


Some Comfort Here

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Accidents, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bullying, Christmas, Complicated Relationships, Consequences, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, First Time Topping, Flashbacks, Friendship, Guilt, Hallucinations, Heroin, Homelessness, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Overdosing, Painkillers, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Recovery, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Serious Injuries, Sexual Abuse, Sleeping Together, Snowed In, Suicide Attempt, Teen Angst, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Unrequited Crush, Vomiting, Wheelchairs, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seven years on the streets, Nicky has gotten used to not wanting much but his next hit.  But a chance meeting at a hospital will redirect the course of his life and give him the chance to face down old demons, if he can find the strength to care about someone else for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Nicky had sex he'd been fifteen, drunk off his arse, and trying to remember where he'd left his keys. There had been another lad there, nice enough guy, helping him rummage around the upstairs bedroom at a mutual friend's house. Nicky didn't know who the guy was, or even how old he was. Old enough to know better, probably.

So he'd been bent down, looking under the bed, when he'd felt a hand slide up his arse, squeeze his left cheek, and he'd laughed, shot a flirty glance over his shoulder because that was what he always bloody did, wasn't it? He was Nicky, that lad who'd maybe jerk you off if he wanted a favour, maybe blow you if he needed one. It was easy, it greased some wheels, whatever. It was his own fucking choice.

He really hadn't intended it to go that far.

Ten minutes later, gritting his teeth against the sudden dry shock of pain, he sort of wondered why he was letting this happen. Maybe because the guy was a lot bigger than him and he didn't know if he could get away if stopping became a non-option. Maybe because it felt a bit inevitable, like another road-marker on the way to being the useless piece of shit everyone always seemed to think he was.

And maybe because, when he felt hands on his hips, hot breath on the back of his neck breaking into low guttural moans as he felt the guy get closer; when he felt his cock get wrapped in a sturdy, unstoppable grip, at least in some small way he felt wanted.

So that had happened. The guy had come, had gone. Nicky found his keys under the coffee table and left. Nobody seemed to notice. They were all too fucking drunk anyway, and at least he didn't have to explain the slight spot of blood on the back of his jeans. Not that he thought they would care.

He went home, took a shower. Jerked off because it felt a bit unfair that he hadn't come earlier, then get into bed, hiding his jeans and underwear so his mother wouldn't notice the stain and spraying a bit of deodorant into the shirt to mask the scents of tobacco, beer, and weed, wondering if maybe he should feel different. More grown up. But all he felt was a bit sick from the beer and an aching sting of pain that pulsed in his pyjama bottoms like a heartbeat.

 

*

 

“C'mon Bryan...” Nicky wheedled. The older lad laughed. They'd done this dance too many times, and it was getting almost mechanical. A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing.

“No.”

“But...”

“It's not that I don't love ya, Nix. I do. But I can't keep...” Bryan rolled his eyes, his hand pulling off Nicky's shoulder again to pick his slushy cup up off the edge of the wall they were leant against. It was warm over here, in the corner of the park. The afternoon sun was just coming in through the trees, casting long shadows over the grass. “No. Last time was the last time.”

“I'll pay you back.”

“You won't.” Bryan laughed. “We both know you won't.” He raised an eyebrow. “And if you're about to ask if you can pay me some other way, that's a big no as well. Not interested.”

“I'm offended.”

“Be offended all you want.” Bryan nudged him lightly, and Nicky couldn't help but feel a smile tug at his mouth. The younger man took a sip, held it over for him to have one as well. Some small charity seeing as he wasn't helping out with the big one. Nicky took a sip, then pulled a face.

“How much vodka's in this?”

“Not enough.” Bryan snorted, taking another sip. “I can't, Nico. I'm sorry. I'm trying to sort things out at home and if I keep fucking about with you Kerry's never going to let me see the kids. I'm on supervised visitation as it is. One more mistake...” An arm came around his shoulder.

“She won't even know I was there.”

“Last time you got fucked up and set the living room rug on fire.”

“It was an ugly rug.” Nicky looked away. Bryan sighed. “Please, Bry.”

“No.” His friend shook his head. “I would, Nico. I'd love to help ya, but... I just can't. I'm sorry. I have to look out for me at the moment, and...” The rest of the sentence went unsaid. 'You're not worth the trouble'. Not that it was a brand new concept. He suspected he hadn't been worth the trouble for rather a long time. “Look, why don't you check out the shelter on Harcourt Street? They've usually got a bed or two.”

“Tried there.” Nicky shrugged. “They won't let me in if they think I've been using.”

“So don't use.” Bryan poked his shoulder. Nicky shrugged. “Stay off the brown and you might actually have enough money to sleep indoors for once.”

“That easy, is it?”  
  
“Course it's fucking not.” Bryan laughed. “But you're not sleeping at mine again, so you're going to have to figure it out one way or the other.” He offered Nicky the slushy cup again. Nicky sipped, handed it back. “We're getting too old for this shit, you know?”

“I'm only twenty-five.”

“You're twenty-five. You're too old for this shit.” Bryan rolled his eyes. “I'm too old for this shit. We're supposed to be grown-ups by now.”

“How's that working out?"

“Yeah, grand.” His next slurp was audible. “I don't know. It was supposed to be easy. School, college, job, wife, kids.”

“And instead you got school, wife, kids, B&E...”

“It wasn't breaking and entering. I had the keys.” Bryan laughed. “In hindsight, probably shouldn't have done it at my actual workplace. I knew where the security cameras were and all. Didn't really think it through.” Nicky shook his head, laughing. “Nice of them not to press charges, but as far as references go...”

“Oh, yeah, I remember Bryan McFadden. He tried to empty out the cash register to pay off his gambling debts. Good lad. Asset to the company.”

“I was.” Bryan smirked. “I was brilliant.”

“When you were sober.”

“I'm always brilliant when I'm sober.” Bryan agreed. “Pretty fantastic when I'm drunk, too.” He looked down into the cup, then handed it to Nicky. “I need to get going, though. I'd say call me if you need anything, but...”

“It's fine.” Nicky sighed. He was rather used to not depending on other people, anyway. Not that he could particularly depend on himself. Almost a decade of let-downs and disappointments and he'd found optimism to be a bit of a liability. At least if you expected the worst you might be pleasantly surprised. “I'll be around, yeah?”

“You usually are.” Bryan winked. “See ya, mate.” Nicky leaned back against the wall, watching him wander away. It was getting a little cooler, the sun beginning to sink lower in the sky. He tugged his jacket tighter around himself, trying to think when he'd last washed it. It was starting to smell a bit ripe. His jeans, too. He dug his hands into his pockets to warm them, then pushed off, beginning to walk towards the road, not really sure where he was going.

 

*

 

The first time Nicky got high was a bit pathetic, in hindsight. He was fourteen and was just hanging around the shopping centre, trying to figure out if he could maybe guilt a tenner off someone in the foodcourt so he could go see a movie. It was something to do, anyway. In some small part of his mind he wondered what the point of this was, bunking off school when he was just waiting around to go home anyway, with nothing to do and no money to do it with, but the point was that he didn't have to be at school. And that suited him just fine.

He adjusted his backpack, wincing when the weight put pressure on the healing bruise on his ribs. It had been a good one, that. A sucker punch as he'd been walking between classes from some prick who Nicky didn't know all that well but apparently had a problem with him. Having a problem with him seemed to be a school activity. Sometimes Nicky wondered if extra credit was being offered for treating him like garbage. He'd tried to do the friendly involved thing early on, had actually had quite a lot of friends at his old school. But then they'd moved and he'd ended up here, where the word faggot got tossed around with surprising regularity, even from the sort of lads that would happily accept head in the gym showers after school.

But at least he'd found a niche. And he figured, in a way, that being useful was probably better than being liked. At least nobody pretended to care.

He wandered around for a bit, then headed outside for a smoke, leaning against the wall near a loading bay for the supermarket. His mother had found his cigarettes a few weeks ago, had absolutely lost it. He'd felt a bit bad, at the time. She was a good mam, as far as mams went, and he'd never have said she didn't care about him. But she just didn't _get_ it. Get what it was like having to give up football because nobody wanted a homo on the team. Get what it was like being passed between three members of the same team that had kicked him out, like a party favour, because that was what he was. Not wanted, not even a person really. Just an open mouth that at least wasn't complaining if it was full of dick.

“Nicky.”

He looked over. Three burnouts that had graduated the year before. He couldn't bloody remember their names, except one was maybe called Tim. They were sat in a corner on the other side of the loading bay, all huddled up together like they were sharing a secret. Maybe-Tim waved him over.

“What's up, lads?” He nodded. He'd given the short one a handjob once in exchange for the answers to a test. He'd had a girlfriend or something at the time. Nicky didn't know what he was doing now, and didn't much care. A flask was produced and he sat down, wondering just how long it would be until one of them asked for a favour. “Cheers. How's it?”

“Grand.” Maybe-Tim nodded. Got a lighter?”

“Yeah.” He dug it out, watched it get passed around. He took a last drag of his own cigarette, stubbed it out, and had a new one ready by the time the lighter came back again. “Cheers. Bit of a shit place to have a party, isn't it?”

“Just a pit-stop. The other guy, taller with a shaved head, took a drag on his cigarette. “Waiting for the bus in like half an hour. Gonna go into town. Wanna come?”

“Nah, bunking off. Mam thinks I'll be home at four.” Nicky shrugged. “Let me know next time, yeah?”

“Ooh, mammy's boy!” Maybe-Tim laughed. He was tugging a plastic bag out of his backpack. “You want one for the road, mate? Old time's sake?”

“Did we have old times?” Nicky shot back. A can of spray paint was produced a minute later. “Paint, lads? Bit low rent.”

“Ooh, la di dah.” The taller guy rolled his eyes. “You want or not?”

“Sure.” Nicky sighed. Shit, at least it was a way to kill an afternoon. Maybe-Tim was already spraying into the bag, holding the top closed when he was done, then holding it to his face, breathing in through the gap. He coughed, sneezed, then grinned. The bottom of the bag was stained metallic blue with varnish. He handed it to Nicky, who did the same.

It was nice enough, he supposed. His head got a bit giddy and there was a spilling sense of fullness, like his thoughts had ground to a stop and were just sort of sitting around, waiting for something to do. He heard himself laugh, leaned back against the wall as his limbs started to go heavy.

“Shit. That's alright.” He blinked slowly, licked his lips. “Brilliant, lads. Thanks.” He yawned. It sounded funny, sort of muted in his own ears. Before he knew it, the other guys were standing up. “Where you off to?”

“Bus.” Maybe-Tim shrugged.

“Thought you said half an hour?” He checked his watch. “Oh, right. Well... see you round.” They waved goodbye. Nicky leaned against the wall a while longer, feeling his head swim while he lit another cigarette.

 

*

 

Nicky let a guy fuck him in the arse in the toilets of Pearse Station, the sound of the trains rumbling past while he braced an arm against the wall and tried to remember the names of all the James Bond movies. He did that a lot, made little lists in his head. It was a good way to focus, or rather to focus on something else while a middle-aged man with a wedding ring jolted a five inch cock into him for what would have been an embarrassingly short time if he'd been enjoying it. He was up to the Pierce Brosnan ones when the guy zipped up and thrust cash into his hand like wiping an eraser across the board of what they'd just done. He shoved it into his pocket and sat down to take a shit, locking the door when it slammed closed.

It was dark by the time he came out. He wandered for a bit, took another job when a guy wandered up in Phoenix Park and asked whether he wanted to go somewhere. Somewhere turned out to be the toilets down the footpath but at least it was close by. It was starting to get cold, and when he washed his hands afterwards they stung a little before he could wipe them off on his jeans.

He had enough in his pocket, figured it was about time to go book into a hostel or something to get out of the winter air. Then he ran into a lad who got him sorted out sometimes, and ten minutes later he was sitting in the back of a McDonalds kitchen snorting a line off a piece of foil while the lad's friend scooped out the fries for the queue building up. He could hear some kid yelling that he wanted a Happy Meal, which sounded like a fucking great idea, so he snuck a cheeseburger and a shitty plastic Shrek toy on the way out.

His wallet was empty, but by the time he made it back to the park he felt fucking fantastic.

He found a spot, sat quietly, and closed his eyes. The first twenty minutes had been nice. A bit floaty while things kicked in, those first few seconds of rush plateauing out into a feeling like his arms and legs had been filled with liquid jam, all heavy and soft. By the time he was an hour along he was thinking maybe it would have been worth it to haggle a bit, try to get something for the road, but it was too late now and way too hard to consider it, so he just sat, trying to figure out if this was the best feeling in the world or the worst. But nothing really mattered anyway, so who gave a shit?

Some guy asked him for a light. It was really hard to hold his head up long enough to look at him, so he just thrust it out blindly, was glad when it was put back in his hand. He didn't have the energy to chase the guy if he nicked it, and didn't have enough money to buy another one. Figured he'd probably just nick someone else's if he had to. One of these fucking junkies would have one on them for sure.

He went to sleep underneath a tree near the water, and when he woke up there was a deer looking at him.

“Hey.” He nodded, not sure how long it had been. “What's up with you?” The deer didn't share his conversational skills apparently because she legged it, dashing back across dark grass lit by small lights along the road nearby. There were a couple of cars parked there, and as he watched the headlights of a small Volvo flickered twice.

Right.

He stood, felt his whole body try to protest. He couldn't have been that long asleep, then, if the heroin was still kicking on. Usually after three or four hours he'd start getting sniffles, though the dry-mouth was starting to set in, so that meant he was sitting on about two hours or so. He ambled over, the door opening in invitation.

“Hey, mate.”

The guy looked okay. A bit older, maybe a bit nervous-looking. Married, probably, but then most of them were. Chubby in a way that wasn't necessarily bad, though Nicky thought everyone looked sort of fat, comparatively speaking. He could count his ribs on a good day. On a bad day he couldn't count much of anything.

“Hey. Um...”

“Twenty for a handy, thirty for a suck, seventy-five for a fuck.” Nicky sighed. He didn't feel like doing the game. The one where they always looked a bit surprised that he was a prostitute, and well, this wasn't really them, didn't know what they were doing here really, weren't gay or anything, but if you were offering then I suppose... It was like they actually cared what he thought of them. He didn't think anything.

He ended up in the car a few minutes later, knelt down on the floor of the passenger seat with a dick in his mouth. It was fine. The guy at least tasted like he'd showered, but it was a bit difficult trying to get enough spit going when his mouth felt like cotton wool. The comedown was starting to set in, he felt a bit sweaty and thought he might need the loo in a bit. The shits were the worst part. The other stuff was manageable, but the shits were fucking horrendous.

He was wiping his mouth off when the guy hit him.

It took him by surprise. Well, obviously it did. Cum on his hand, trickling out of his mouth, and suddenly he was punched right between the eyes. The back of his head hit the glove compartment, his hands coming up to hold a nose that seemed to be the wrong shape suddenly, when he was hit again, his hand fumbling for the doorhandle.

He hit the grass, felt a kick catch him in the ribs as he lay there, trying to get up while he was blinded by blood and tears of pain. It was cold, the next kick crunching through bones that felt brittle in the icy air. He screamed, felt it catch in his throat when another kick caught him in the back. The Shrek figurine fell out of his pocket and rolled across the grass.

By the time the car door closed again, consciousness seemed like a dream he'd had a long time ago, when things were better and he could find the energy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Nicky's dad found his stash he was sixteen and had just gotten back in from school. He was just holding it for a friend, of course, would never touch the stuff himself. His father had slapped him across the face, called him a fucking idiot, and that night when his mother got home he'd heard her crying in the kitchen.

It wasn't even anything good. A couple of joints, two ecstasy tablets. He'd thought about trying to explain. Trying to tell them how he was just so miserable that it was like a door into somewhere else. Like an exit sign. That it was better to feel something that wasn't rage and insignificance and feeling like there was another shoe about to drop somewhere, and it was probably going to land on him.

They made him go to counselling. He sat there for forty minutes while they tried to make him explain his feelings. They gave him a pamphlet. His father flushed everything down the toilet. His mother told him she loved him.

The next day he went into school and someone had spraypainted WHORE across his locker.

That afternoon he got jumped in the toilets and pushed to his knees by a football player with paint stains on his fingers.

Two days later he found a better hiding place for his stuff. He was only holding it for a friend, anyway.

 

*

 

When he opened his eyes he felt like shit.

His head was pounding, not helped by the fact that the room seemed way too bright. There was a constant, irritating beeping coming from nearby, and his arms were so itchy he wanted to scratch the skin off. His right arm was across his chest, wrist locked into position by a heavy plaster cast, and when he wriggled his toes his back protested badly. He tried to sit up, groaned when he felt his head rock forward like a lead weight.

He threw up down himself. A second later there was a nurse there, holding a bucket while he finished up. He didn't feel better, but at least he felt emptier. He fucking needed the toilet, though.

The nurse left. A doctor came in. Asked if he knew where he was. He hazarded a guess and said the hospital. Full marks all round. Apparently his wrist was broken. Two ribs as well. They brought him a bedpan. He shat in it. They took it away. Apparently he was on morphine, so that was nice. It wasn't the same, but narcotics were something he could get behind on a regular day.

He drifted for a bit. They asked him about next of kin and identification. His ID was two years out of date. He asked them to give his fucking wallet back, and then stayed for a while, determined to check out eventually but not able to say no to free opiates. He said it hurt really bad, so they upped his dose.

When he woke up again there were a couple of Gardai in the room. He waved brightly, told them what he knew, and took another nap. They asked if he had somewhere to stay. His arms itched like fucking crazy and he wanted to burst into tears for some reason.

The next day he went for a walk to stretch his legs. He had a feeling he was going to be kicked out soon – there was only so long he could pretend to be in serious agony to take advantage of free food and drugs. He was wandering out through the waiting room, hoping to maybe sneak outside and bum a smoke off someone when he heard a commotion.

He'd always liked a good commotion, and he turned to look on legs that were still a bit shaky, wincing when the movement twisted his ribs. There were a couple of doctors, pushing another lad between them on a gurney on the way to emergency down the hall. There were two guys trailing along behind, one of them just about running.

“Please...” One was saying, a shorter guy with blonde hair. There were tears streaming down his face. “Let me go in. Please...” The doctor said something about next of kin only. The other lad, a taller brunette, had his hand on his friend's shoulder. “I'm his boyfriend. Please.” He bit his lip. “I...”

“Just let him in.” The taller guy was saying. “I can wait out here. Just until we know he's okay. Please...”

One of the doctors paused. The trolley was still moving, disappearing through the swinging doors. Nicky watched with interest as the doctor said something, nodded, and then the shorter guy was chasing through after it, the doors still swinging while the taller lad took two steps back, and then huffed out a breath, sinking into a chair near the doors. He looked utterly deflated, was staring at his hands like he didn't know what to do with them, then put them over his face, scrubbing his eyes.

“Fuck.” Nicky heard him say. He looked up, staring blankly in front of him, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of smokes. He held them for a long time, stared at them, then stood, running his fingers through his hair. A second later he disappeared outside.

Nicky followed.

It was cold. He was only wearing a hospital gown and it was the middle of November, so that was probably to be expected. He held the back closed with one hand, flinching in the icy air. He found the lad out on a bench next to a few low bushes, sucking on a cigarette like he was trying to inhale the paper as well.

“Hey.” Nicky said. The guy looked up. His eyes were full of unshed tears. “Mind if I bum one?”

“Um... yeah. Sure. Yeah.” A shaking hand held out the packet. “Here. Ehm... they're a bit squashed. They were in my pocket, so...”

“It's fine.” Nicky assured him. A few seconds later he was sitting down as well, the wooden bench cold on his arse. He tugged the gown closed again. “You alright?”

“Yeah. No. Yeah.” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Fuck. Sorry. Erm...”

“Your mate okay?”

“I don't know.” He bit his lip. “We were just... I don't know. We were just mucking about, you know? Like, just shoving, and then he... he pushed me... and I pushed him back and...” He covered his mouth, his face pale above a trembling chin. “Oh god. What if...? I didn't mean to push him that hard and then there was a car and I...”

“Shit.” Nicky breathed. The guy took a long drag on his cigarette, sucking in hard, his lips shaking around it. “I'm sorry.” He said uselessly. “He'll probably be okay...”

“Maybe. I don't... I don't know. Fuck.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Sorry.” His face was hidden by hands for a second, then he pushed his hair back away from it. He was sort of cute, actually, despite the pale, blotchy panic. Dark hair, blue eyes. Sort of tall and sturdy, with lazy stubble that was almost a beard. Nicky put a hand on a thick thigh, feeling a little sorry for him.

“Calm down.” He said. He didn't know what else to say, but this guy wasn't remotely calm, so starting there seemed like a good idea. Plump red lips were bitten nervously. “The doctors will sort him out.”

“But what if...? The lad stood up. “I... I have to go back inside. I shouldn't have...”

“I'll walk you.” Nicky offered.

 

*

 

The first time Nicky realised maybe he wasn't like the other kids he was thirteen years old and his friend had brought over a copy of the latest pop magazine. He couldn't remember which one for sure, but his mate had been ogling a picture of Kylie Minogue and Nicky had been too distracted with looking at the other page, where there was a glossy tear-out poster of Marky Mark in his underwear.

He'd gotten a hard on. Tried to hide it. His mate laughed, said he had more pictures of Kylie in one of his mam's magazines at home, and Nicky laughed along, glad when the magazine was put away.

A few weeks later he was wrestling with the same friend in his bedroom. Just mucking about, stupid kid stuff, when it had happened again. His friend had really noticed this time, had asked him if he was a fucking homo or something. The next day at school nobody would talk to him and he couldn't figure out why. Some guy threw a rotten pear at him, which had smashed open on his shirt. He spent lunch washing the stain out, and when he went back to class people seemed to be passing notes that never ended up on his own desk.

He went home, did his homework, and wondered if this was it. If maybe he was just... wrong, somehow. If the settling, heavy anger and shame in the cavern of his chest was something he was going to be hauling around for the rest of his life.

He went downstairs, eventually. Ate dinner and stared at the TV without really watching it. His mother asked if he was alright. He said he was. After all, there wasn't much to tell her that didn't sound like he was some sort of freak. What was he supposed to say? His father asked if he wanted to go to the movies on the weekend. His brother made a gurgling sound and threw his plate on the floor.

He didn't sleep well that night. At 2am Adam started crying. He stared at the wall, trying to find some reason to care.

 

*

 

He sank back into his bed. Slept a little more and asked if perhaps he could have some more morphine. The nurse pursed her lips but she hooked him up anyway and half an hour later he was drifting quietly, the ceiling seeming to sink lower and lower until it was almost pressing against his face.

He woke that night to another bed being rolled into his ward.

He hadn't paid much attention to the other people in his room. There had been an old man in here, but he'd left that morning and Nicky hadn't spoken to him. The curtain was drawn most of the time anyway. When he woke up the next morning the nurse was opening his curtains and telling him he was checking out at three that afternoon. He figured that seemed about right.

He looked over. The guy he'd seen the previous day was asleep in a chair next to the other bed. Not the tall one, the blonde. The boyfriend. The bed was occupied by a guy with dark hair, his eyes half-closed as well.

“Hey.” Nicky whispered. The guy looked over. He looked a bit groggy, and there were stitches all up the side of his face. “How you doing?”

“Yeah.” He whispered back. “They said I got hit by a car.”

“Oh.” Nicky nodded. “I met your friend yesterday. He was worried about you.”

“Oh... erm... Mark? Tall... brown hair...?” Nicky nodded. “He was here?”

“He came in with you.” Nicky cocked his head. “You don't remember?”

“I don't...” His forehead pinched in with pain. “We were at the pub.” He lifted an arm that was covered in sticking plasters. “I don't remember after that.” He glanced at the boy next to him. “Kian said I fell.” Nicky shrugged. “Erm... my leg's broken. It hurts.”

“They got you on drugs?”

“Morphine. It's hard to... to think.” He pursed his lips. “My shoulders feel really heavy.”

“Yeah. That'll happen.” Nicky laughed. He was sort of glad he was getting out, to be honest. The free food and drugs were pretty great but it wasn't a patch on the real thing. The nausea was the worst, and he kept feeling sad for no reason. He usually didn't feel happy as such, but there was nothing like that first hit, that feeling like a big, warm, soft hand was wrapping around you, cradling you to the chest of something with a slow, steady heartbeat.

“What are you in for?”

Nicky lifted his wrist, showing the cast. His face was pretty bruised up as well, and there was a plaster over his nose. He probably looked terrible.

“What happened?”

“Got the shit kicked out of me in Phoenix Park.” He sighed. The other lad winced.

“I won't even go there after dark.” He said. “There's too many homeless nutters. You keep hearing of people getting fucked up all the time. You know, prostitutes stealing your wallet for drugs and that.”

“Made a mistake, obviously.” Nicky smiled thinly. “I'm supposed to be out this afternoon.”

“Half your luck. Sorry... Shane.” The lad pointed at himself.

“Nicky.”

“Hiya.” Shane nodded. “I'm in for a while. They think I might have... done some damage. You know. My brain swelled a little bit or something, and they want to make sure...” He sighed. “Fuck.”

“You seem okay.”

“Yeah.” Shane bit his lip. “Can... can I tell you something? Don't tell Kian. I don't want him to know, but...” Nicky gestured for him to keep going. “My... my legs are a bit numb. I heard the doctors talking when I was coming out of it and they think... I mean, I can feel them sort of, but they think I might have damaged... something. Pinched it, maybe. I don't know.” He ran a hand over his face. “Why the fuck am I telling you?”

“Drugs?” Nicky suggested. Shane laughed.

“Yeah. Maybe.” He looked up at the TV. It was playing some morning show with the sound off. “Please tell me there are other channels on this thing.”

“Probably, but you'll need a paperclip and some duct tape to get them.” Nicky commented. He hadn't seen much television in the last few years, but it really hadn't changed much. Too many ads, and if anything it was more pointless than it had ever been.

“We need MacGyver.”

“Yep.” Nicky nodded. He sat up a little. His back was starting to hurt in this position. “So, that's Kian?” He gestured at the guy still asleep next to Shane, who nodded. “He's your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” A fond smile skated Shane's lips. It was sort of sweet. “Two years. Like, we were friends for ages, but...” He looked over at the blonde man. “I've known him since I was a little kid. It's funny, but all I remember from getting hurt was thinking that it was a bit bloody stupid that we waited that long when it might end this fast.” He swallowed, looking back at Nicky. “I don't remember anything else, I just remember thinking that. Weird, right?”

“I don't know.” Nicky said honestly. “You think weird shit when you're about to maybe die, I suppose.”

“What did you think?” Shane gestured at his arm. “Like, when...” He shook his head. “Sorry, that's really personal. My head feels like it's stuffed with peanut butter.” He laughed quietly to himself, mouth curving into a numb smile.

“It's fine.” Nicky pursed his lips, trying to think. “I don't really know. It was all a bit of a blur. Ehm...” He adjusted a little. Fuck, his back really hurt. “I think I was thinking 'run!' but even that wasn't really a thought... Oh, you know Shrek, right?” Shane nodded. “I had a Happy Meal right before, and I had the toy in my pocket. It fell out, and I remember seeing that stupid laughing green face and thinking 'what bloody use are you?'” Shane laughed quietly. “That's a pretty pathetic last thought.”

“Shrek was supposed to save you?”

“He could have done something. Fucking useless.” Nicky was about to cross his arms, but then he remembered his ribs. Not that it was hard to forget. It was like a great twisting, stabbing pinch, right through his chest.

“Bloody Shrek.” Shane agreed. He looked over at Kian again, who was just stirring. Eyes fluttered open. Nicky could see from here that they were a pale, startling blue. He looked up at Shane, smiling. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey.” Kian mumbled sleepily. “Sorry. Fell asleep.”

“I know. It's fine.” Their fingers entwined. Neither of them reached out first, it was almost perfectly automatic, hands resting on the bed between them.

“How you feeling?”

“Drugged. This is quality stuff.” Shane nodded at the tube in his arm. Nicky wanted to laugh. Quality stuff. Yeah. Okay. “We should get one for the flat.”

“I'll ask the nurses to send one over.” Kian snorted and stood up to peck him gently on the mouth. “You want anything? I can get someone in?”

“I'm fine.” Shane assured him. “This is Nicky.” He nodded over. Nicky raised a hand in a wave. Kian nodded back. “He's my friend. He got beat up.”

“Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Nicky smiled. “I'm out this afternoon anyway.”

“Oh no...” Shane looked crestfallen. It was sweet. It was the drugs, obviously, but it was sweet. “Don't go.”

“Don't think I have a choice.” He lifted his arm. “They've sorted me. Can't get free food forever.”

“That sucks.” Shane paused. “Give me your number or something. We'll hang out.”

“Shay...” Kian looked at Nicky apologetically. “How about you have a nap and I'll get Nicky's number, alright? He's your best friend now, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shane agreed. “Shrek was supposed to save us.”

“He was.” Kian smiled, tugging the blankets up a little bit. “There we go. You want to close your eyes?”

“Yeah.” Shane did. Kian lay awkwardly beside him, his lower half still in the chair and his head on the pillow next to Shane. Softly he began to hum a song. Nicky couldn't tell what it was, but after a few minutes he saw Shane sag. Kian sat up, beginning to absently stroke his hair.

“Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Nicky snorted. “I don't have a phone anyway.” Kian looked surprised. “It must have got lost when...” He held up his arm. “Or broken. I don't know.” It wasn't really true, but it was better than explaining why he wasn't an ideal candidate for a Vodafone plan. He had thought about buying one of those prepaid things, but then he'd spent the money on... Well, the same thing he usually did. “He loves you.”

“I know. Soppy eejit.” Kian snorted. “What did he say?”

“Not much. Something about knowing you since he was a kid.” The rest he'd leave for Shane to say. It all sounded a bit personal, not something to hear from a stranger. Though he did wonder whether Shane would ever tell him his concerns about his legs. He supposed he'd have to, eventually. Not that it was any of his business.

Kian looked like he was about to say something when the door opened. They both looked up, watched a dark head poke in.

Mark. That was what Shane had said. Kian nodded, standing up to pull him into a hug.

“Sorry.” He heard Mark whisper. Kian shook his head, squeezing him tight.

“Not your fault.” Mark sagged.

“It was.”

“It was an accident.” Kian said firmly, pulling away. “He's fine. He's just a bit banged up.” He led Mark over, nudging him into the chair. Mark sat. He didn't seem to have noticed Nicky yet. “You keep an eye on him while I go to the toilet, okay? You want me to get you a coffee on the way back?” Mark nodded quietly. “Nicky, you want anything?”

“Three sugars, bit of milk.” Nicky supplied, got a nod back. “Cheers.”

“No problem.” Kian disappeared from the room. Mark looked up.

“Hey again.”

“Hi.” God, he was fucking social today. He'd spoken to three people in the last fifteen minutes and he wasn't looking to conduct a transaction with any of them. Not unless you counted the coffee. He managed a smile, licking his lips when he felt them crack. His mouth was _really_ dry. “Bum a smoke?”

“Ha.” Mark let out something that might have been a laugh. It sounded brittle and scared. “Sorry... Nicky, is it?”

“And you're Mark.” Nicky smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” He looked back at Shane. “How's he doing?”

“Grand. We had a lovely conversation about MacGyver.” Mark looked back up, his face confused. “He's drugged off his head. Fine, though.” They both let out awkward laughs. “You okay?”

“I... yeah. Don't think I slept much.” Mark admitted. “Bit of a shock.” He glanced in the direction Kian had gone. “Surprised he's not angry, really. He can really hold a grudge when he wants to. Didn't think I'd make it into the room alive.”

“Think he's more worried about this one.” Nicky nodded at Shane. “It was an accident, right?”

“Yeah.” Mark wasn't smiling, though. “So... what happened to you?”

Nicky sighed, preparing to tell this story again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Nicky almost died he was twenty and sleeping on the floor of a guy who was sort of keeping him around for a few weeks. He wasn't getting paid, not in money, but Tony had a lot of parties and people were always reasonably generous, or too fucked up to mind that the skinny kid was skimming a little off the top.

He hadn't been doing it long. He'd had a boyfriend before that, one who had asked him if he wanted to try something harder when they were dropping acid at a club once. He hadn't minded acid. It was all a bit vague and interesting in the right mood and he hadn't had the freakout that people said could happen if you had a bad trip. So he'd done a couple of lines of Ket when they'd gotten home and had a pretty great time, floating six feet above his body while his ex had fucked him on the living room floor, not sure if he could feel it but thinking that the linoleum made a fun pattern when you looked at it the right way.

So he did it again. What he didn't realise at the time was that it had been cut with cocaine, which would have been fine, probably, but he didn't allow for that when figuring out his dosage and suddenly his heart was hammering and he couldn't breathe. He tried to swallow, but his throat was closing, and by the time he staggered to the bathroom 'up' was lost as a concept and all he could taste was vomit.

All he'd been able to think at the time was the lyrics to Pretty Fly (For A White Guy). Which was pretty fucking pathetic, but it had been on a loop all night. As things faded to grey it started up again. Nicky thought it was a fairly shitty song to die to.

He woke up screaming in the hospital two hours later, trying to fight off something that wasn't there, his heart slamming a million miles an hour and two nurses trying to calm him down. He'd had a minor heart-attack, apparently, had almost ODed, and had been found on the front steps of the hospital. When he got out the next day, still barely functional, he'd gone back and been told that nobody wanted to take the responsibility. That was just how it was, kid. Sorry. He nodded like that all made sense, sat down on the sofa, and downed four fingers of whiskey before his head could tell him no.

Then he ate a slice of leftover pizza, crashed out for four hours, and was kicked out that afternoon. Tony was moving on – it wasn't his place anyway, he was only squatting – and Nicky wasn't invited.

He slept on the roof of a Tesco that night, curled up near a ventilation shaft and trying to figure out if he'd been lucky or not.

 

*

 

“Nicky?”

He opened his eyes. He'd been trying to sleep, but he'd been laying in bed so long he wasn't tired enough to get it happening, and anyway, he was starting to feel shitty. More shitty. He felt really fucking shitty.

He looked over. Mark had his head stuck through the curtain, was nervously chewing his lip.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Mark smiled weakly. “Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's fine. I wasn't...” He shuffled up a little bit. Two hours to go, apparently. He was sort of hoping they'd forget about him, that he'd get away with staying another night, but knew that was seriously unlikely. “What's up?”

“Nothing, just...” He looked back over his shoulder. “I was going to go get a smoke. Thought I'd see if you wanted to come?”

“Oh...” Nicky looked around himself. They'd unhooked him from everything just before he'd started trying to sleep. Another reason to get out. Sobriety was starting to creep up on him and he couldn't say he liked it all that much. “Yeah.” He agreed. “Just a sec.” He slid out of bed, tugging his gown closed again. His legs were a bit shaky but by the time he reached the hall he felt more steady. Mark went to step into the lift. Nicky paused.

“You okay?”

“Oh... yeah.” He eyed it warily. “Not a fan of lifts.”

“Oh...” Mark looked around. “Well, it's only three floors. Did you want to walk?”

“I can if you want to take this one. Meet you at the bottom.”

“No, course not. Stairs it is.” Mark turned left without hesitating, headed for the stairwell. Nicky followed. “So.” He said when they were halfway down. “Why not lifts?”

“Never been a fan.” Nicky explained. He was moving slowly, trying not to jostle his cracked ribs. Mark was keeping pace, the two of them going one step at a time. He didn't know why Mark was bothering. The guy could have been outside and lighting up by now, but he didn't mind the company. “I got stuck in one when I was a kid. They just give me the willies.”

“You were okay?”

“Fine. Yeah. But it was for like an hour and I was by myself...” He shrugged. “I don't know. I was twelve, I think. Hated them ever since.”

“That must have been scary.”

“It was a long time ago.” He reached the bottom of the flight, watched Mark push open the door. The noise of the hospital closed back in around them while they headed down the corridor towards the front door. He tugged his robe closed again.

“Here...” Mark shrugged off his jacket, handing it to Nicky. “You'll catch your death.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged it on. It was a bit big, but was warm enough. And it came down long enough to cover his arse. “I'll freeze for a smoke.”

“Know the feeling.” Mark snorted. “Addictions, right? I try to kick it, but...”

“You don't know the half of it.” He was starting to get shaky again. Just a horrible, shitty feeling like his skin was trying to pry itself from his muscles and crawl away. He needed the bathroom, too. He needed a smoke more. “But not doing it would be worse than doing it.” He commented.

“True.” The automatic doors slid open, the cold breeze going straight through his clothes. Mark shivered.

“Want your jacket back?” Nicky was already shrugging out of it when Mark held up a hand.

“Keep it. Just fish out my ciggies, yeah?” Nicky did so, holding the box out so they could each grab one, then lighting them with the lighter tucked into the lid. He took a drag. It wasn't nearly the same, but at least it was something. He let out a relieved sigh, heard Mark do the same. “Terrible.”

“What is?”

“How fucking good this tastes.” Mark laughed. Nicky smirked. Didn't he know it. They stood in silence for a few minutes. He could see cars going past on the road outside. It all felt too big and bright, like he'd gotten too used to being inside. “You get out today, yeah?” Nicky nodded. “Got someone picking you up?” Nicky shook his head.

“Nope.” Mark looked surprised. “It's cool. I'll just get a taxi.”

“Do you want me to give you a ride or something?”

“I'm fine.” He took another drag of his cigarette.

“Do you live with anyone, or?”

“No.” He looked down at his smoke, wondering why he felt bad about that. “Just me.”

“That sucks.”

“I like it.” Nicky shrugged. “I'm not good at being around other people.”

“Really?” Mark glanced at him. “I don't know. I like you.” Nicky raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Not, like...” He sighed. “You were nice to me the other day. Like, listening to me ramble on. Sort of like you are now, I suppose.” He looked at Nicky bashfully. Nicky laughed. “Just wanted to say thanks. I'm a bit of a disaster at the moment and I appreciate it.”

“It's fine.” Nicky didn't know what else to say. He'd just been looking for a way to get a cigarette. “Thanks, I think?”

“Yeah. Well...” Mark sighed. “I can give you a ride, though. Really. Where do you live?”

“It's really fine.” Mark looked so _earnest_ though. And fuck, it was better than walking back to Phoenix Park. Though he thought they were maybe only forty minutes walk away. “Okay, sure.” He conceded. He didn't know where he was going to get Mark to drop him, but he was sure he'd figure it out. Maybe just at a random house, then he could wave goodbye and head back toward the park. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Let me know.” He took another drag. They both did. “How are you doing, by the way?” He nodded at Nicky's arm. “You okay?”

“I'm fine.” He'd caught a look at himself in the bathroom mirror earlier that day. It was not a pretty sight. His face was half purple, eye still a bit swollen. His nose was a fucking disaster. He wondered if business would slow down or if it didn't really matter. He wasn't sure why that made him feel a bit sad. His ribs fucking hurt, though. He wasn't sure if that would make things harder. “Banged up.”

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you.” Mark shrugged, as though there wasn't much point telling him he looked fine. “Boys'll be lining up.”

“I bet you're cute under there, though.”

“I am, yeah.” He answered. Mark chuckled. He supposed that probably was a bit conceited, but guys were always telling him he was. He did his best. Showered where he could, usually at public swimming pools or at the YMCA. He was too skinny but a lot of guys seemed to like that. His mother had always said he had nice eyes. “I'll have to get by on my personality for a bit.” He meant it to be sarcastic but Mark was nodding, smiling at him. It was a nice smile, sort of sweet.

“You'll be fine, then.”

“Yeah. Right.” He stubbed out his smoke. “Mind if I...”

“Go for it.” Mark nodded. “So... what do you do?” Nicky wasn't sure what he meant for a minute, and then he realised. A job. Right.

“Oh... nothing at the moment. Not really.” He lit another cigarette, lifting it to his lips. He was thinking about leaving early now. If he didn't score soon he was going to be a fucking mess. Just something. Anything. Not ice, he wasn't a fucking idiot, but something. Oxy, even. He'd kill for some fucking Oxy.

“Your hand's shaking.”

“Is it?” He looked at it. He supposed it was. “Huh.” He navigated it carefully back to his lips, snagging the smoke with his mouth to keep it steady. “Oh well.”

“Should you ask the doctor about that?”

“Nah, it'll be fine.” He shook it a little. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“What you're doing for a job?”

“Oh. Yeah. Nothing. I...” He tried to think what the best possible lie was. “Looking for something at the moment.”

“What were you doing before?”

“Dunno. It's been a while.” He pursed his lips. “I used to do some courier stuff. You know. Pick up, drop off.”

“Like a bike messenger?”

“Sort of, yeah.” Bike messenger? He could go with that. Fuck, he wouldn't even be seeing Mark again in a few hours so who gave a shit? “Company went bust, so...” Well, the guy had been busted, sure. Same thing.

“That's hard.”

“Yeah.” Nicky shrugged. “What do you do?”

“Oh... um... I'm teaching. First year.” Nicky glanced at him. He did look a little younger. Twenty-three or twenty-four, probably. “English and Religion.”

“You religious?”

“Not particularly, no.” Mark snorted. “Like, the content's interesting but like... I guess I'm agnostic. Or... it'd be nice to think it was true but reasonably, well, they can't _all_ be right, can they? Maybe there's something, but I don't bloody know what it is.” He looked at Nicky. “I only finished college last year, so I'm still sort of trying to find my feet. I like it, but...” He shrugged. “I dunno. Did you ever get the feeling like you had everything figured out and then when it came to it you had no idea what you were doing?”

“All the time.” He pulled a face. Mark chuckled. “The only thing you can depend on is the fact that you can't depend on anything.”

“That's pessimistic.”

“Maybe.” He finished off his smoke. Mark offered him another, but he shook his head. No. He was just going to head upstairs, quietly get dressed, and check out. “But my face looks like a rotten pumpkin, so as far as optimism goes...” He lifted his braced wrist. He supposed it was good it had just been the wrist, at least he could move his elbow and everything. He'd have to learn to jerk people off left-handed.

“Any point saying it could have been worse?”

Nicky shrugged. Mark did too.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Mm.” Nicky nodded. “I'm probably gonna check out in half an hour or so...”

“Yeah. Fine.” Mark smiled. “I'll drive you. Where are we going?”

 

*

 

When they got back to the room Shane and Kian were sat together on the bed. Kian was crying. Nicky paused in the doorway, felt Mark do the same. Shane was talking quietly but Kian was shaking his head furiously while hands stroked over his.

“No...” Kian sobbed. “It's not...” He looked up when he realised Nicky and Mark were standing there. “I can't...” He looked away, burying his head in Shane's shoulder. Shane nodded and began to stroke hands down his back.

“We'd better go.” Mark said quietly, though his face looked curious and sickened. He was biting his lip, beginning to look pale. Nicky nodded.

“This is your fucking fault!” Kian sat up again, glaring at Mark. “He's crippled, and it's your fucking fault. Why couldn't you...”

“Ki...” Shane interrupted. His voice was firm but he sounded near-tears himself. “That's not fair.”

“It's _not_ fucking fair!” Kian sobbed. “I'm...” He looked at Shane. “No.”

“Honey...” Shane reached out his arms again. “Come here, okay?” Kian hesitated for a second, then did, settling into Shane's arms and shaking. Nicky glanced at Mark. There were tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Shane...”

“Mark...” Shane bit his lip. “Maybe... maybe leave us alone for a bit, okay?”

“But...”

“It's fine. I'm fine.” Shane let go a slow, shuddering breath. “There's a bit of swelling and they think... maybe something's damaged. We just have to wait to find out.” Mark's breath hitched. “I don't blame you, okay? Kian's just...” He looked down. “Just give us a bit. I'll call you tonight.”

“I'm so sorry.” Mark breathed. “I didn't...”

“I know.” Shane swallowed. “I know, but...” He began to stroke the hair of the sobbing man in his arms. “We'll talk about it later.”

Mark fled.

Nicky watched him go. Wasn't sure whether to follow or not. But he still had the guy's jacket, his cigarettes, and it wasn't like he was going to get far. He bent to grab his clothes from underneath the bed, ribs screaming as he did, and began to tug them on. They had been washed at some point, which was a bit luxurious. They didn't smell nearly as bad as they usually did.

“See ya round, Shane.” He lifted his hand in a wave, feeling bad about just walking out without saying anything. Shane nodded, still stroking Kian's hair. There were tears rolling down his own cheeks.

“See ya, mate.” He said thickly. “Suppose I'm staying here for a bit.”

“I'm sorry.” Nicky said honestly. Shane seemed nice, and this was a shitty thing to happen. “It sucks.”

“It does.” Shane snorted. “If you see Mark on the way out can you say...” He trailed off. “I don't know. Make something up.” He shook his head. “I don't know what to say.”

“Okay.” Nicky agreed. He tugged on his own jacket, folding Mark's over his arm. “See ya Kian.”

Kian didn't reply. Nicky left, headed downstairs to check out.

Mark was sitting outside, head buried in his hands. It was an odd sense of deja vu. Nicky sat down beside him, silently handing him his jacket.

“Shane said he doesn't blame you.” Nicky said quietly.

“Kian does, though.” Mark murmured. Nicky shrugged. He probably did. It was usually easier to be self-righteous when you were looking out for someone else. “I blame myself.”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“No. Of course not...” Mark looked up, his eyes red and white, laden with shock. “Why would I...?”

“Exactly.” Nicky shrugged. “It's shitty. Shitty things happen.” He rested a hand on Mark's shoulder. He didn't know why he was bothering, but Mark had seemed nice enough to care about giving him a lift without even knowing him. Nobody ever did nice things for him without expecting something in return. He felt like he owed him something, almost. Some sort of favour in kind, even if it was empty goodwill. “It could have just as easily have been you. Or Kian. It just happened.” He didn't know what the fuck he was trying to say, but it probably wasn't helping. Mark sniffed.

“I'm never going to be able to fix this.” He whispered. “I can't take it back. It'll always have happened and it will always be my fault.” A tear trickled down his cheek, catching on his chin.

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded. It was true, anyway. He squeezed Mark's shoulder. “I wish I could tell you different, but yeah.” Mark's face crumpled. “But I got beat up and I'll get better. He will too. He might not be the same, but he's still your mate, right?” Mark nodded. “Maybe he'll be fine. He can move his legs and stuff, yeah?” Mark nodded again. “There you go. Doctors'll fix it.” It probably wasn't true, but whatever.

“I guess.” Mark dragged in a breath. “We don't know yet, right?”

“Exactly.” Nicky agreed. “Wait until you know before you start taking the blame. Kian'll hate it if you're the centre of attention, anyway.” Mark snorted a laugh. It was wet, but it was definitely a laugh. “I'm off. I'll see you round, yeah?”

“I'll take you...”

Nicky studied him. He didn't seem to be in a state to drive, but Mark was already standing, digging out his keys.

“Worry about your friends.”

“I have to go, anyway.” Mark argued. “Seriously. It's... I want to. Please?”

Nicky shrugged. Okay. Fine.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The first time Nicky met Bryan he was seventeen and at a youth community therapy thing. It wasn't his first one, but it was his first court-appointed one. He'd been desperate, picked some guy's pocket, and discovered he was a fairly terrible thief when the guy turned around, grabbed him by the wrist, and punched him in the face.

The cops came, intervened, and he was arrested. It was a first offence, but he was drunk off his arse when he'd done it. He wasn't high – that had been why he'd wanted the wallet – and thank god, because his parents had been disappointed enough when the garda called them to the station. First offence, probation, community service. He spent two weeks picking up rubbish by the side of the motorway, and at night his parents made him go to youth meetings with other kids who had whiny fucking problems that Nicky didn't care about.

One night he stepped outside to sneak a cigarette and found Bryan leaning against the wall with a half-empty bottle of Gatorade. They lit up together, Bryan offered a swallow from the bottle. By the time they went inside they were just sober enough to be under the radar and the rest of the session hadn't been so bad. The next night they bogged off together and went down the pub while Nicky drank and Bryan played the fruit machines until someone finally noticed they were underage and kicked them out. Bryan was up a whole six pounds. They split it on some McDonalds, which they ate in the back of the meeting hall, passing a joint back and forth until their parents came to get them.

They had a bit in common. Mostly the fact that neither of them saw the point in trying to live up to other people's standards. Bryan had tried to kill himself twice. Had been bullied mercilessly at school because of his weight. Nicky thought that was fucking pathetic. Bryan agreed. So together they decided to stop giving a shit.

Nicky suspected they'd decided that long before, but were just waiting for someone else to give them permission.

Bryan had asked Nicky to be the best man at his wedding the year before. He'd never actually gotten married, in the end, had blown all their savings betting on a football match. Kerry took their daughter and went to stay with her mother.

Bryan was silent for a few days, and then very nervously told Nicky that it was probably a good idea if he left. That he was going to try to get Kerry back.

Nicky couldn't exactly argue. He was used to being second choice.

 

*

 

He got Mark to drop him off at Bryan's building. It was the only address he could think of to give, and it was at least somewhere he could maybe have a shower and a sleep. Mark said goodbye, asked if he'd be alright. Nicky said yeah, course he would. It almost felt funny, getting out of somebody's car without asking for money first.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Mark glanced over his shoulder. He was probably thinking that Bryan's place was a shithole. It was. Objectively it was better than Nicky's, though. “Hey... do you want to go do something sometime?”

“Do something?” Nicky echoed. He didn't know quite what to say. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Ehm... food or... like, go see a movie or something?” Mark looked nervous. “Or not. Forget it. Erm...”

“That sounds nice.” Nicky scratched his hair, trying to think what to say. It did sound nice. He had no idea why Mark was asking. He was banged up, his clothes were full of holes, and he probably smelled. It was a bit hard to tell. After a while he'd gotten used to it. “I... I don't know if now's a good time for me, though.” He managed. Mark's face fell slightly, cheeks going pink.

“No. It's cool. Yeah.” He bit his lip. “Well, it was nice meeting you, then.”

“Yeah.” Nicky bent back down, leaning his head through the door, and then in a moment of something he couldn't quite name... kissed Mark on the cheek.

The other boy went redder, touching the spot. Nicky smiled.

“Thanks, though.” He said honestly. “I hope everything works out.”

“Yeah. You too. Ehm...” Mark grimaced. “Yeah, so.”

“Yeah.” Nicky echoed, closing the door once he'd stood back up. The window was rolled down so he looked in. “I have to go back to the hospital in a few weeks to get this off.” He waved the plastered arm in explanation. “Maybe I'll see you?”

“Maybe.” That got a smile. It was nice. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a smile like that. “Look, if Shane and Kian are still there, tell them to call me. I'll come over if I can. See how you're doing.”

Nicky didn't know what to say to that. He just nodded, smiled, and stood, backing away from the car with a wave. Mark waved back. Then he was driving off. Nicky watched the car go.

He headed for Bryan's, carefully hopped over the back fence. Bryan was ground floor and usually kept a key handy under the mat for emergencies. He hadn't today, though. Nicky sighed, going to knock on the glass sliding door.

The lights were on. He couldn't see anybody for a moment, but then he heard a childish shriek of laughter, sidled over to look through the small kitchen window.

Bryan and Molly were dancing in the living room, the little girl standing on his shoes while Lilly clapped her hands from a highchair, a sippy cup sat in front of her. As he watched Bryan scooped Molly up, beginning to tickle her while she giggled and squirmed. There was a Wiggles DVD on the television on the counter.

There was someone else in the room. He noticed at the last minute. Sat in the corner on a chair with a briefcase next to her. She was watching Bryan like a hawk, looked like she was getting ready to take notes.

They didn't see him.

Nicky pulled away from the window, climbed awkwardly back over the fence and headed for the park.

The next few days were quiet. Business was slow. He managed to get fucked once but was crying in pain by the end of it and had to give it up or risk his ribs never bloody healing properly. Blowjobs and handjobs it was. It wasn't an ideal business model, especially with his right arm out of action, but by the end of the first night he had enough to head around to a few places and get enough to get through the night. He fell asleep on the toilet in a bus station, head leaned against the wall and his pants around his ankles. Woke up with a red ring just about etched into his arse from the seat.

It was warm at least.

He found himself wondering what Mark was doing. It was a bit stupid. He knew that, even while he was doing it. He'd met the guy three or four times, had barely had a whole conversation, and had gotten a lift. He didn't know what it was. He didn't fancy him, though he supposed Mark was handsome enough, he didn't really even know much about him apart from that he was a teacher and his friend was hurt.

But he'd been nice. Had asked if he'd wanted help for apparently no other reason than wanting to help. Nicky didn't know the last time he'd met someone like that.

Not that it mattered.

Two weeks later he was behind a homeless shelter at Christchurch Square, trying to bum something to eat. He'd nicked a new shirt off a clothesline the day before, as well as a winter coat, and was starting to feel a bit more presentable. Not as cold, either. There had been light snowfall the day before, and more was supposed to be coming.

He got himself a bowl of stew, just about poured it down his throat, then found a guy who was usually holding. He traded the coat and the night's takings for five grams of heroin and a handful of oxy, stuffed them deep in the pockets of his jeans.

He traded three oxy for someone else's jacket, then found himself a nice, warm place to sleep beside a hot water pipe in the stairwell of a shopping centre carpark. When he woke there were a couple of security guards giving him the move-along. It was almost dawn anyway.

He fished some day-old bread from the dumpster behind the supermarket, got some free sauce packets from a table outside an all-night diner, and ate his breakfast sitting in a tree behind an empty lot, watching the sun come up over the city.

 

*

 

The first time Nicky slept on the streets he'd been just eighteen. His parents had kicked him out. He hadn't really been surprised. They'd been fighting for months, always trying to tell him what to do, trying to help him when the last thing he needed was help. All he needed, all he really wanted, was for someone to just get it. To understand that there was something living inside him. Something that was dark and empty and hollow that shrieked at him day and night until he could find a way to drown it out. Drugs. Sex. Pain. It didn't matter as long as it was loud.

His mother had caught him stealing from his little brother's piggy bank. He'd stolen from all of them, over the years. His mother's purse, his father's wallet. And it wasn't like the little snot was going to use the money, was it? He hadn't told his parents yet that he'd dropped out of school. He hadn't really told the school either, and considering he was eighteen there wasn't much they could do about him not showing up. So he hadn't. Had spent the days finding other things to do, most of which entailed feeding the shrieking thing in his gut.

He got home to find his room turned inside out, all the drawers yanked open and the mattress flipped over. As he stepped in to look he realised his parents were in the doorway behind him.

“Looking for this?”

“That's mine.” He glared at his father. Two socks, weighted at the bottom with what he'd been able to collect as a backup. He tried not to touch it if he didn't have to. “You're going through my room?”

“Whose money did you buy it with?” His father asked. Nicky felt his face got hot with anger.

“It was a gift. Guy owed me a favour.”

“Really? For what?”

“I...” He felt his lips thin, trying to keep the secret trapped inside. “Fuck you.”

His mother started crying.

They gave him the ultimatum. That it was too dangerous with his little brother. That he was eighteen and he was bringing drugs into the house, was stealing money. That it was selfish. That if he wasn't willing to check himself into rehab, then...

He went for a week. It was hell. By the third day he was scratching his arms so hard he was bleeding. His parents had to come and go to group with him, but all he could hear that he was a disappointment to _them,_ was making _them_ hurt. Nobody seemed to want to know how he felt, and when they asked him they never seemed satisfied with the answer.

He ran away. Went home. His father stopped him at the door.

That night he stayed under a bridge, sleepless and listening to the water babble past in the dark.

 

*

 

“Holy shit, what happened to you?”  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about it.” Nicky deadpanned. Bryan rolled his eyes. “Take a guess.”

“Shit.”

“Yep. Ribs. Wrist. Face.” He was about to mention that it had been the same night he'd asked to stay at Bryan's, but that felt too much like rubbing it in. It hadn't been Bryan's fault. None of it was. It was his own, as usual. “Got to spend a few days in the hospital. Free food and morphine.”

“Lucky you.” Bryan snorted. “You in some sort of trouble?”

“No more than usual.” He sighed. It was cold. He'd been chilling out in the park when he'd seen Bryan walk by, and for a moment his friend hadn't even recognised him. It didn't look good. The swelling had gone down but he was tie-dyed purple and yellow. His ribs were killing and as a result he was exhausted, unable to find a way to sit or sleep that didn't pinch them the moment he moved.

“A guy came by looking for you the other day.” Bryan looked concerned. “You're not mixed up in something, are you?”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I hadn't seen you in a couple of weeks.” Bryan shrugged. “That I had no idea where you were.”

“Thanks.” Nicky wasn't sure who it could be. He hadn't pissed anybody off that he knew about, and he didn't think he owned anyone money. And why would they go to Bryan's? “What did he look like?”

“Dunno. My height, brown hair.” Bryan shrugged. “He asked if you lived there and I said no. Then he asked if I was sure. I was like, well, yeah. I think I know who lives in my own house. He didn't seem like he was there to break your legs.”

“Was he called Mark?” Nicky felt his stomach twist and wasn't sure why. Some sort of anticipatory jolt.

“Yeah, that was it.” Bryan looked at him. “Who is he?

“Just some guy.” Nicky sighed. “Sorry. I didn't mean to get you mixed up in this.”

“Mixed up in what?”

“...I don't even know.” Nicky admitted. “He asked me out.” Bryan barked a surprised laugh. “What? I could get asked out.”

“I don't really see you as the dating type.”

“I could date.”

“What are you going to do? Take him to a crack den? Side of K for afters?” Bryan raised an eyebrow. “Make him wait while you get buggered in the toilets so you can pay for dinner?” Nicky felt a rueful smile edge across his face. It was true, of course.

“Yeah, I guess.” He looked up. It was starting to get into the afternoon and clouds were edging across the sky, heavy and black. “I wasn't going to. He was just nice.”

“Lots of people are nice.”

“I know.” Nicky swallowed. “He asked if I wanted a ride home from the hospital and I didn't know where to tell him to take me, so I just said yours.” He gave Bryan an apologetic look. “I'm really sorry. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want him to find out...”

“Why not?”

“I don't even know.” Nicky admitted. “He had a lot of crap going on and I wanted to let him down easy.” That didn't feel like all of it, though. Mark had seemed to like him. He had a long history of disappointing people and he really didn't want... “How's things going with the kids, anyway? Everything alright?”

Bryan didn't reply. When Nicky looked up there was a confused stare being directed at him.

“What?”

“You've never asked me about my kids.”

“Sure I have.” Nicky frowned. “I like your kids.”

“You've literally never...” Bryan raised an eyebrow. “What's going on? Did you get hit too hard?”

“Jesus, Bryan. I'm just making small talk.” Nicky retorted. Of course he'd asked about Bryan's kids. He was always talking about them, Nicky knew their names. He must have asked about them. “We're friends. I'm interested in your life.”

“Since when?” Bryan's laugh was hard and surprised. “I don't think we've had a single conversation in two years that wasn't about a fuckup or a favour.”

“Course we have.” Nicky replied, fishing for something else to say just to prove that Bryan was wrong. “How's the job hunt going?”

“Not bad.” Bryan replied warily. “I've been able to pitch in a bit at the fish markets. Cash in hand. It's not great but at least the social worker knows I'm employed.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Bryan dug in his pocket, pulled out a cigarette. He didn't offer Nicky one. “What are you on right now?”

“Did a bump in the toilets about an hour ago.” He admitted. He wasn't messed up or anything, just felt nicely level, though he knew the comedown would start to kick in soon. Clockwork. It dulled some of the pain at least. His ribs were stabbing. “Can I ask you a favour?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.” He didn't bother explaining what it was. That he was sort of wondering if he could borrow some clothes for a few weeks time when he went back to the hospital. Just in case Mark was there. Something that didn't smell of old sweat and dirt.

“It's not personal.” Bryan said. “I just...”

“Yeah. I know.” Nicky nodded. “I have to go.” He picked up his backpack. He'd found it in a bin last week and it was coming in handy to keep a blanket in as the nights got colder. It was almost Christmas. Six more weeks. “It was nice seeing you.”  
  
“Okay.” Bryan still looked confused. “I'll see you.”

Nicky headed back towards the fountain. Within an hour he was in some guy's car near the water, one hand bracing his ribs, the cast braced on the window to hold himself steady. It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. He closed his eyes, tried to focus on the pain, tried to sink into it and convince himself it was normal. By the time he staggered out of the car he was almost blind with tears.

It was cold. He went to sleep. When he woke up it was still cold and rain was starting to patter on his shoulders. He moved under the doorway to the toilet block, patting his pocket to make sure the plastic around his stash was still dry. It was at least out of the wind. He fell asleep again, head buried in his arms.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The weeks drifted. His arm was starting to itch badly under the cast. He was almost tempted to try to cut it off somehow, but something was holding him back. He wanted to go back to the hospital, as odd as it sounded. Just to see. If Mark was there. If Shane was okay. It was getting colder. Twice he woke up with frost on his clothes, tears and snot frozen to his face. He stole a pair of gloves from a laundry bag behind a hotel, along with a pair of jeans and a coat. Some part of him wondered if the bellhop or whoever would get in trouble, and he sort of felt bad about that. He didn't wear the jeans. They were nice and he wanted to wear them to the hospital first so they wouldn't get dirty.

He had a shower the day before he was due in. Snuck into a gym when the receptionist wasn't looking and had a quick scrub with a sliver of soap someone had left on the floor. His face was starting to look better. Still yellow up his jaw but the worst had faded. He wondered if Mark would even recognise him. He barely recognised himself.

He gave himself a haircut with a broken pair of scissors he found in the garbage, used the side of the blade to cut down his stubble as well. It didn't come up too badly. He just kept cutting until it was more or less even, messed it up a bit to hide the mistakes.

It was three weeks until Christmas.

He hadn't had a hit since that morning, so he went back to the McDonalds and managed to blag some stuff. The Shrek Happy Meals were gone. There were little matchbox cars instead. He took one of those, snorted a line off the back of his hand, and sat by the bridge, rolling the car back and forth across his knee.

He shivered. The metal of the car was cold in his hand. He tucked it back in his pocket, trying to make himself as small as possible and blowing into his hands to warm them. His breath was making little clouds in the air.

He closed his eyes, feeling impossibly tired.

“Nicky?”

He opened his eyes, blinking blearily. Everything felt too numb. Not cold, just nothing. His eyelids seemed to stick together.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

“Mark?” He croaked. A hand touched his face.

“God, you're freezing.” A scarf came around his neck. It was warm. Mark was shrugging his coat off too. “What are you doing out here?”

“Tired. Sleeping.” He managed. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to see the Christmas tree...” Right. The big one they'd put up in city centre. Nicky had seen it a few times, flickering colour and a huge golden angel at the top. It wasn't like you could miss it. “Hey...” Hands shook his shoulders and he realised his eyes had fallen closed again. “Don't fall asleep.”

“M'tired.”

“Come on.” Hands pulled him to his feet, a coat wrapping around his shoulders. Mark started to button it. He looked cold, his cheeks pink in the frosty air. Nicky's arms were trapped against his sides, the sleeves flopping uselessly. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I can...” He leant over, a sudden urge to vomit racing up his gut. Nothing came out, though. He dry-heaved spittle into the grass, trying to think when he'd last eaten. “Shit.”

“Okay...” A hand was stroking his back. He stood again. Another hand steadied him. Fingers cradled his chin, pulling his face up. “Do you know where you are?”

“Phoenix Park.” His lips were numb. “What are you doing here?”

“The Christmas tree.”

“No, I know, but...” He found himself laughing, not sure how to explain. And his nice jeans were in his backpack, too. Fucking Mark. If he'd just waited twelve hours... He lifted his hand, trying to make sure his hair was alright, but his arms were still trapped by the coat.

“Come on.” Mark put an arm around his shoulders, began to guide him along. Nicky's legs were too helplessly numb not to follow. “Let's get you inside.”

 

*

 

The first Christmas Nicky could remember clearly was when he was six years old. All he wanted... all he desperately, desperately wanted was one of those AT-AT toys from Star Wars, the one with the moveable legs. He stared at it every day in the window of the toy store on the way home from school.

On Christmas morning he unwrapped every gift with his name on it. One after the other. And they were fantastic gifts. A little hand-held pinball machine. A Tonka truck and some Lego. But no AT-AT. He almost started crying right there, even though he'd been told repeatedly by his mother that he should be gracious when he opened his presents, but it had been too much for his six-year-old brain to cope with.

But his mother asked him to go upstairs and change into his church clothes and there it was on his bedroom floor with a big green bow on it. As real as it had been in the window of the store. He nearly shrieked the house down with excitement.

Two hours later he accidentally dropped it down the stairs.

His dad tried to put it back together, but it never worked right after that. One of the legs kept coming loose and falling off, and there was a big crack running up the middle of the plastic. He'd been totally heartbroken. His mam said it was okay, because now his was different from everybody else's. He put lightning bolt stickers over the crack to hold it together.

A few years later he found it when he was cleaning out his room, getting rid of old toys to donate to charity. His mother said that one was no good, that it was broken, that nobody else would want it. In response he gave it place of pride on the shelf above his bed, where it sat gathering dust.

One day he came home and it was in the bin in pieces. He asked what had happened, and she said it had fallen when she'd been dusting. He'd thrown a tantrum right there, nine years old and way too mature to be so heartbroken over a toy, she said. But that wasn't the  _ point _ . It was his. It was wonky and cracked, but it had been the thing he'd wanted so badly, and it didn't matter that the leg kept falling off. What did matter was seeing it on his bedroom floor with a big green bow on it and knowing it belonged to him.

That even if it was broken, even if it wasn't perfect, even if nobody else wanted it...

He cried himself to sleep that night, not sure why he was taking this so hard. It was just a toy, after all.

 

*

 

He was sat in a small, neat living room. There was a blanket around his shoulders, a mug of tea in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a cup of tea. This one was nice, with a bit of honey and lemon in it, warming his lips when he lifted it to his mouth. He felt it trickle down his chest, spreading heat.

“Lift.”

Nicky did, flinching when he lowered his feet back into the tub of warm water Mark had slid underneath him. He wriggled his toes, watched the water get a little murky with dirt. His toenails were pretty atrocious, crammed in shoes all day. They'd been cut in the hospital but now they were red and grimy, one a little ingrown on the corner.

Mark had given him a pair of pyjamas to change into. He was swimming in them, but they were warm and soft enough, and the blanket was helping as well.

“What were you doing out there?” Mark crouched down in front of him, looking up earnestly. Nicky felt like crying, suddenly. He was still cold, in a way that was deep and consuming, even though his outsides were warming up. “It's the middle of winter.”

“Ehm...” He looked down into the tea, not at all sure why he was embarrassed. “I... I sleep there sometimes.” He admitted. A hand cupped over his knee, squeezing gently. Now he really wanted to cry. “It's usually okay. Out of the wind.”  
  
“Jesus.” It was a soft, shocked breath. “So when I dropped you off...”

“Yeah. That's my mate's place. Erm...” He looked back up. “Sorry. I didn't want you to know.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know.” He coughed. Fuck, his chest really hurt, too. Stupid fucking ribs. “You went back.”

“Yeah. I just...” Mark sighed. “I don't know why. Just wanted to check on you, I guess. You said you didn't have anyone, so...” They were both blushing a little. Nicky could feel it in his own cheeks. A careful hand pulled the mug away, setting it down on the coffee table, then gathered up his unplastered wrist, two fingers pressing to his pulse.

“What you doing?”

“Just checking.” Mark bit his lip.

“You a doctor now?”

“Better salary than a teacher, but no...” A thumb reached up, pressing carefully under one eye, then the other. “My auntie is. She was always big on first aid and stuff when I was growing up. Especially living in the country. I can splint a broken leg, too.”

“I don't have a broken leg.”

“Well, if you ever do, let me know.” Mark snorted. Nicky found himself smiling. “That must be due to come off soon.”

“Tomorrow.” Nicky mumbled, giving his arm a slight shake. “I was gonna go in.”

“I was probably going to be there.” Mark grabbed his tea again, handed it back to him. “Shane's doing well. He's in physical therapy.”

“He's okay...?”

“Swelling on his spinal cord.” Mark explained. “They thought it might be a lesion, but they've got him on anti-inflammatories and a lot of painkillers. He's loving the wheelchair. Starting to say he won't bother with the whole walking thing, if the chair's that easy. He should be out for Christmas.”

“Good luck getting anywhere without ramps.”

“That's what I said.” Mark smirked. “Have you eaten?”

Nicky shrugged. “Since when?” He saw Mark's lips purse in concern. “I don't know.” He replied honestly. “Recently?”

“I'm going to get you some soup.” Mark stood back up, heading over to the kitchen. It was behind the living room, separated by a counter. “You want... chicken or beef?”

“Chicken, please.” He turned to watch Mark move around the kitchen, pouring hot water into the pot. He came back quickly, sinking down next to Nicky on the sofa with his own cup of tea. “Thanks. Sorry, I'll be out of your hair after I eat.”

“Oh.” Mark sounded surprised. “No, that's fine. Stay if you want.”

“It's okay.” Nicky looked down at his tea. “I don't want to mess you about. I'll just...” He went to stand. “I appreciate it, but...”

“Nicky, you...” Mark put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “You'll catch your death out there. You were almost frozen solid.” Nicky went to stand again. “Sit down.” Mark urged. “Come on. I'll kip on the sofa. You can sleep in my bed.”

“No. I...” He didn't know where the sudden rush of tears came from, but suddenly he was sobbing on Mark's sofa. An arm wrapped around his shoulders. It wasn't awkward, it was just careful and comforting, pulling him in a little tighter while Nicky put hands over his eyes, trying to hide.

He cried himself out after a few minutes. Sat back up, a bit humiliated. Mark was stroking his back.

“Sorry.” He muttered thickly.

“It's okay.” A tissue was pressed into his hand. A hand swirled through the water around his feet. “I'll tip this out. It's getting cold.” He lifted his feet. Mark took it away and came back with a pot soup, and a spoon. Nicky finished wiping his eyes. “How long have you been...?”

“A while.” Nicky said quietly. “A few years. Seven... years.” He admitted finally. He heard Mark let out a surprised hiss.

“You can't go to a shelter, or?”

“No. Well...” Nicky sighed. “They won't let you in if...” He didn't want to look Mark in the face all of a sudden. “If you've been using.” He muttered.

“I figured.” Nicky looked up in surprise. “Oh, come on. Your pupils look like pinholes.” Nicky groaned, covering his eyes to hide the evidence. “What are you on?”

“Heroin.” He admitted quietly. “Bit of Oxycodone.” Mark was still looking at him expectantly. “Sometimes Ketamine.” He added. “Mostly Heroin.” It sounded like the most pathetic list of all time. “Sorry.” He sniffed. He was starting to come down again. His bowels were cramping and his mouth was like cotton wool. “I'll go.”

“I didn't say that.” Mark stopped him again. “Hey...” Nicky couldn't look him in the eye. Which was fucking bullshit because he'd stopped feeling bad about who he was years ago. This was his fucking life. His fucking decision. The only people who had ever made him feel bad had been the first ones to stop bothering. “Stay here. It's fine.”

“Why do you care?” He had to know. It didn't make any sense.

“I don't know.” Mark said quietly. “I just know I'd feel terrible if you went out there and froze to death. Anyway, it's almost Christmas.” A small, rueful smile darted across full lips. “Look, if you want to go I'm not going to stop you, but... let me give you some clothes or something. A coat. I have a few from last year that are a bit small.”

“I don't need charity.”

“How about a trade?” Mark suggested. “I'll give you a coat and you give me...” He glanced around. “Erm...” Nicky sighed, getting ready to either bend over or open up. “A song.” He said finally. “Fair trade.”

“A song?”

“Yeah.” Mark smiled awkwardly. “Sing me a song, and I'll give you a coat. If you're leaving. If you're staying, you can have the bed for free. Just tell me how you like your eggs in the morning.”

Nicky didn't know what to say.

“Why?” He demanded. “You don't know me.”

“Okay.” Mark shrugged. “It doesn't mean I want you out in the cold.”

“You always bring junkies back to your flat?”

“No.” Mark took a sip of his own tea. “Only the junkies I met at a hospital one time.” Nicky found himself letting out a surprised laugh. “Come on.” He said. “You really want to be out there?”

“I'm used to it.”

“That's not what I asked.” Mark pursed his lips. “Look, it's almost ten. Eat that, we'll watch a bit of TV, and see how we feel, alright? There's been Christmas movies on all week. Maybe we can catch the second half of Die Hard.” He nudged Nicky's side. “I'll make microwave popcorn.”

“Die Hard?” God, he hadn't seen that in ages. His dad had had it on video and they'd watched it almost every year.

“Is that a yes?”

Nicky nodded slowly. Okay. For Die Hard.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” Mark pointed down the hall. “I'll get the popcorn on.”

 

*

 

He woke up to a hand shaking him.

“Sorry, officer, I'll...” When he opened his eyes, though, it was to blue eyes and a gentle touch. He managed a rueful smile, got one back. “Sorry.” He mumbled. Mark was stood over him. “Do you need me to go?”

“No, I was just going to see if you wanted to move to the bed. It's more comfortable.” Mark tugged the blanket off him, began to fold it over his arm. “You fell asleep.”

“Die Hard.” He remembered suddenly. “Is it over?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” A hand brushed hair off his face. “You nodded off.”

“Shit.” Nicky said quietly. “I hadn't seen that in ages.”

“Well... we can go rent the DVD tomorrow, if you like?” Mark offered. Nicky stared at him. Tomorrow? What the hell was Mark talking about? “But for now let's get you into bed.” He was tugged to his feet, an arm wrapping around his waist to guide him. The bedroom was nice. Small, neat, just like the rest of the place. The mattress was so soft it was almost disconcerting, his head sinking into the pillow.

“Do you want another blanket?”

“It's fine.” He tugged it higher. Mark was stood in the doorway. The door began to close. “Mark?”

“Yeah.” His head poked back in.

“I... I don't know why you're doing this, but...” Nicky swallowed. It had been an awfully long time since he'd had to say anything like this. He couldn't quite find the words. “Thank you. It was really cold.”

“No problem.” Mark smiled. “I'll be on the sofa. Yell out if you need anything.”

“Yeah.” Nicky agreed. “Night."

 


	6. Chapter 6

The first time Nicky tried heroin was his twenty-first birthday. He'd been doing alright, actually. He was sort of seeing a guy who was nice to him. It wasn't serious, but the guy wasn't a complete arsehole and he was reasonably good looking. If anything Nicky felt a bit like a housepet – just sort of there, but not particularly a burden. His place was nice too – not some shitty council flat like he was used to staying in – Ash actually had a job, a proper place. He used coasters under his coffee cups. There were certainly worse places to be.

The best thing about him was that his mother had died of cancer a few months before. Which was a tragedy, obviously, but for some reason her prescriptions hadn't been officially cut off. So Ash would come home with boxes of painkillers and they'd sit together, crushing them on a glass coffee table and snorting them, watching movies and eating crisps. Sometimes they'd fuck on the sofa, pass out, and wake up all snuggled up together. It had just been a really, really nice time.

So his birthday came around and Ash found out. Nicky didn't tend to mention his birthday much. He didn't expect presents or anything, there really wasn't anyone to give him presents since he'd left home. But Ash had been reading the horoscopes in the paper and asked the date, so on the night of his birthday a few people came round. There was cake, and Chinese food, and for the first time in a long time Nicky had felt wanted.

“Nicky?”

He looked up. They were playing cards at the kitchen table. He had no idea if he was winning or not, but he had a beer in front of him and a good meal sitting happily in his stomach.

“You want a little something?”  
  
“What you got?” He squinted at his cards. Twos were wild. No, threes. Fuck it. “I'm out lads.” He tossed his cards on the table. It was a shit hand regardless.

“Birthday present. You wanna try some H?”

“Do I?” He glanced over. He tended to stick to the prescriptions and party drugs, and his one encounter with coke had landed him in the hospital. “Is it clean?”

“Yeah, Dutchie brought it.” Dutchie was a nice lad. He'd brought the beer. “It's nice. You'll get a bit sleepy, then you'll be happy for the rest of the night. Like being in a big, soft bed.”

He watched Ash scoop some out, arrange a little bump on his finger. Then it was under his nose. Nicky thought about hesitating, but he just felt too damn good. A few seconds later it was trickling down the back of his throat while he rubbed his nose, tongue stuck out against the taste. Ash kissed him, and when they finally broke for air Nicky was all warm, his limbs starting to drift away from his body.

“Oh.” He said quietly. A couple of the other lads laughed. “That's alright.” He licked his lips. “That's really fucking nice.” He blinked hard. Hands kneaded the back of his shoulders and he sank into it, eyes closing. When they opened again there was a birthday cake in front of him, candles flickering above it like a dream.

“Happy birthday.”

Nicky wanted to cry.

That night they had sex for three hours. He didn't come, didn't think he could remember how, but it didn't fucking matter when everything was just insane, vibrating pleasure. He couldn't breathe, couldn't remember how to move, but every time he managed it he was crying out in sudden surprised ecstasy, almost sobbing with relief.

He was high until almost lunchtime the next day.

He stayed for another two months until Ash said he'd met someone else. Nicky was too used to the concept to be that upset, though he did steal as much of Ash's supply as he could cram in his pockets.

 

*

 

When Nicky woke up he felt like shit. Still, the bed was soft and warm, and he lay there for a minute before his stomach told him it was probably time to dash for the bathroom.

It was a nice bathroom. There was a pile of dirty laundry next to the sink, but there was a shower, and the toilet paper had little blue seashells printed on it. He stared at the seashells a long time. There wasn't much else to do. He was cramping something vicious and his clothes were in the other room. When he was finally done he took a shower. The shampoo smelled like kiwi-fruit. He washed his hair twice, scrubbed himself three times with a loofah that was hanging on a hook. When he got out he had a shave, watching stubble peel away to show the last of the yellowing bruises around his chin.

He put the pyjamas back on. It wasn't like he had much choice. When he went out Mark was stood over the stove in his boxers and a t-shirt, the smell of eggs and sausages filling the room.

“Morning.”

“Hey.” He scratched his wet hair awkwardly. The pyjama bottoms really were too big. He'd pulled the drawstring as tight as he could. “You seen my clothes?”

“In the wash.” Mark glanced over his shoulder. “Should be done in about half an hour.”

“Where's...”

“I emptied the pockets, put everything in your backpack.” He nodded over. Nicky sighed, grateful. He checked the pocket in the front, just to be sure. Everything seemed to be there. He dug out the new jeans, struggling into them. Mark didn't look over while he did it, but he did after, smiling when he saw Nicky standing in the middle of the living room.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. The headache was coming on hard. The eggs smelled fantastic, but he wanted to be sick. “I'm ehm... is there somewhere I can smoke, or...?”

“Balcony.” Mark gestured over his shoulder. “Scrambled okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks...” He reached for his cigarettes, dug out the twist of plastic underneath. It was funny. He'd never felt as good as that first time. And at first that had sort of been the point. Trying to feel that good again. But then it had just been trying to feel good at all, because when he didn't he felt terrible. Then he'd been trying to feel normal. Then...

When he came back he hovered in the living room for a second, not sure at all what he was supposed to be doing. Then Mark turned around.

“Hey.” He had a couple of plates in his hands. Nicky took the one that was held out. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” He felt weird. Lighter, somehow. His skin felt too dry. “Sorry, I used your soap...”

“It's fine. I have a spare toothbrush and stuff if you want?”

“Oh.” He covered his mouth self-consciously. “Yeah. Okay. Please.”

“Cool.” They sat down. It looked amazing. Salt, sauce and grease. There was coffee as well. Proper coffee. Not hospital coffee or leftover McDonalds coffee. He took a sip.

“Oh my god.” He muttered, putting it down. Which only freed up his hands for stuffing eggs and tomato onto a piece of toast. He folded it in half and started to shove it in his mouth. There was a soft laugh. He looked up. “Sorry.” He mumbled. Mark smiled.

“I can make more if you want?”

He looked down at the plate. He didn't think he'd be able to fit this in. It just tasted so _good_.

“Don't you have to be at work or something?”

“Christmas holidays.” Mark explained. “And it's Saturday.”

“Is it?” Nicky looked up. He'd sort of lost track.

Mark ducked downstairs after breakfast and when he came up it was with Nicky's clothes, folded neatly. Nicky put his shirt back on. It still smelled a bit, but there was a flowery, soapy smell over the top of it.

“Your face looks better.”

“I'm surprised you recognised me.”

Mark snorted. “Yeah, me too, to be honest. Do you want another coffee?” Nicky nodded. “I was supposed to park closer, but there were no spots so I ended up driving around the park until I found one. I wasn't even looking. Like, I was kind of keeping an eye out because it's Phoenix Park at night, but... I dunno.” Mark went back over into the kitchen. “So, yeah. I cut through, and then I saw your foot sticking out of the bushes and at first I kept walking. Cos like, it's Phoenix Park. At night.” He gave Nicky a bashful smile. “And then I though, shit, what if it's actually someone dead or hurt or whatever. Like, I figured it was just someone asleep but you never know, so I went back. And there you were.”

“You didn't have to.”

“I did.” Mark looked over at him. “What was I supposed to do, leave you there?”

“Generally, yeah.” Nicky admitted. “You asked me out.” He remembered suddenly, blurted it out. Mark laughed.

“You shut me down.” Mark headed back around the counter with a fresh cup. Nicky took it.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He looked down at his mug, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Why?” He asked. He'd been wondering it for weeks. Had to know.

“Dunno.” When he looked up Mark was blushing a bit too. “You were nice to me. When I was upset. And that's not, like, a clingy thing, but... I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too.” Nicky admitted. Mark went redder. “I'm sorry. This is probably pretty disappointing.”

“No. Well... it's surprising, but...” A hand caught his for the smallest moment and squeezed. “Can I help? Can I like... do anything?” Nicky's first instinct was to ask for money, but he felt like Mark was skirting saying that out loud. And fuck, the guy was a first year teacher. Judging from his tiny flat he wasn't rolling in it. “Maybe I can help with...”

“I'm doing okay.”

“There's nothing of you.” Nicky felt self-conscious, suddenly. Mark was looking at him, and what he was seeing was apparently not up to standard. It wasn't something he was used to. “Food, maybe. I can give you like... food.” But not money. Nicky heard it loud and clear. Or a place to stay. And why would he? He was a junkie. Obviously a liar as well. It wasn't like Mark was going to leave Nicky here on his own. He'd probably pawn the furniture.

“Mark...” He stopped him there. “I appreciate it. I do. Really. But...” Mark was chewing his bottom lip, looking lost. “Let's be reasonable, okay? I'm high. I did two lines on the balcony when I was having a cigarette. That's my morning. I'll be high again by tonight...” He trailed off. It sounded shitty when he said it out loud, but there it was. “If you give me money, I'll spend it on more. If you give me a place to stay...” He looked down at his feet. “It never works out, okay?”

“How so?”

“What?”

“Like, why does it never work out?”

“Because...” Nicky shook his head. “Don't worry, okay? I don't like taking charity. This isn't your problem.”

“But...”

“Mark...” He bit his lip. “No. It's fine. Look, I'll go get this thing cut off and I'll be out of your hair.” He poked his cast. “I can take care of myself.”

“Nicky...”

“You don't know me.” Nicky said firmly. Mark flinched. “You really don't.” There was a long pause. It sank in around them like molasses.

“Okay.” He said finally. “I'll give you a lift to the hospital.”

 

*

 

They sat in the waiting room a long time. Nicky hadn't made an appointment – hadn't even really thought of it. If it hadn't been for Mark he would have just cut the thing off by himself, tossed it in the garbage. He was finally seen after about an hour. They took it off, turned his wrist left and right to look at it. It looked oddly pale and thin but it didn't really hurt any more, just felt a bit stiff. They checked his ribs, said he was coming along fine. Mark sat with him. Nicky lifted it to show him once everything was off, waving like he was doing some amazing party trick. Mark laughed.

He asked if Nicky minded dropping in on Shane and Kian. Nicky said he didn't. He knew he could leave if he wanted, just walk out, but he was a bit curious. He wasn't sure why. Mark had said Shane was fine.

“Nicky!” Shane was in a wheelchair down in the physical therapy clinic, doing spins on the spot while Kian watched and laughed. “Check it out. Wheelie.” He jerked back, tipping to balance. Kian grabbed the handles, pushing him back flat.

“Shane...”

“Kian...” Shane pouted. “Fine.” He got a kiss. “Not allowed to make my own fun...”

“It's a hard life.” Kian agreed. Shane smirked, beginning to roll over. “Hello.” He stopped in front of them. “You're back.”

“Getting this thing off.” He raised his wrist to show them. “Ran into Mark and he said I should come say hi.” If Mark noticed the lie he didn't mention it. It was probably more embarrassing for Mark, Nicky supposed. “So... hi.”

“Hi.” Kian smiled. “How've you been?”

“Good, just getting on with it.” He looked down at Shane. “What's going on with you two?”

“I'm going home tomorrow!” Shane beamed. It was a bit gorgeous. Nicky found himself smiling back. “Come to my party!” Nicky blinked, not sure what to say. “Please?”

“Oh...” Nicky glanced at Mark, but there was no help there. “Ehm... when is it?”

“Day after tomorrow. Our place. We're going to have a barbecue. Lots of people. It'll be fun.”

“I dunno.” Nicky hedged. “It's not...”

“Sure he can come.” Mark interrupted. “You can come, right?” A hand landed on his shoulder. “You're not doing something else?” Nicky had to admit that he wasn't. “I'll give you a ride if you like?”

“See?” Shane grinned. “You can bring your like... boyfriend... or?”

“Just me.” He managed a smile. “But yeah. Okay. I can come.” Shane was looking at Mark, and when Nicky looked over Mark was shooting him a glare. “Thank you.”

“Grand.” Shane did a quick spin in the chair. “I want lunch. Who wants lunch?”

They ended up sitting in the hospital cafeteria in front of a few sandwiches. Mark bought him one. Nicky tried to say that he wasn't hungry to divert attention from him not having any money, but Mark was already paying for it. Shane was babbling on about a thousand things at once and Nicky remembered why he'd liked him in the hospital, even though they hadn't spent that long together. He was friendly and inclusive, sort of a big dork, but in a nice way. Nicky found himself laughing, which was new. Not a bit of a chuckle but actually actively laughing.

He looked up. Mark was laughing too. Nicky felt like he should say something to him but wasn't entirely sure what. Thank you, maybe, but he didn't know exactly what to thank him for. This wasn't something he'd necessarily wanted or asked for. Still, it was nice to be clean-shaven, and to be having an actual conversation with people who weren't fucked up. Even Kian seemed to be in a good mood, kept holding Shane's hand under the table and smiling along.

“I need the bathroom.” Nicky stood, still smiling. The others waved him goodbye. He headed for the toilets, sinking down into the seat. He felt a little sweaty, but not too bad. He'd eaten, he was distracted... One of his mates had once described the anticipation of the withdrawal as worse than the actual thing. Nicky didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, but he'd once gone three days without and the anticipation had been nothing. Lying in a pool of his own shit, screaming because it felt like someone had covered him in petrol and set him on fire... _nothing_ prepared you for that.

But it was only five hours, and he was okay. Clammy, but okay. He washed his hands, headed back to the table, and was about to turn the corner when he thought he heard his name.

“He's single, though.”

“Shane...” Mark sighed. “I'm not always somebody's blind date, you know.”

“Come on...” Shane urged. “When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”

“Thanks. That makes me feel better.” He heard Kian laugh. “It's fine. I haven't even seen him since...”

“Yeah, and now he's all cute and not messed up.” Shane argued. “Ask him out.”

“No, thank you.” Nicky felt his heart fall. Mark had been quite willing to ask him out before. Things had changed, obviously. He knew that. “I don't need a boyfriend right now.”

“You don't fancy him?”

“I'm not interested.” Mark said firmly. “Let it go.”

“Shay, leave it.” Kian said quietly, though Nicky could hear fondness in his voice. “You're not his mother.”

“But...” Shane huffed out a breath, then laughed. “Fuck off.”

“No.” He heard Shane squeal. Nicky continued around the corner and when he came back around Kian was tickling Shane, the other boy squirming in his seat and trying to bat him away. Mark was laughing. He looked up when he saw Nicky.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Nicky sat back down in front of his sandwich. Two proper meals in one day. He was already full. He took a sip of the coke Mark had bought him, laughing when Shane and Kian started a slap-fight. When he turned to look at Mark the other boy was smiling at him. “What?”

Mark took another bite of his sandwich, shaking his head.

“Nothing.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

They stopped by the video store on the way back and picked up not just Die Hard, but Die Hard: With A Vengeance. Nicky wandered around for almost half an hour, picking up cases and looking at the backs. He hadn't heard of half these movies, and the ones on the New Release display he only recognised from bus stop posters. Mark let him pick another one, so he grabbed X-Men, because he'd liked the cartoons when he was a kid. Mark bought a bunch of snacks as well, some crisps and chocolate, and happily handed over the money.

They got back to the apartment in the early afternoon. Mark put on X-Men and they sat on the sofa. Nicky still had no idea what to say.

“Have you seen this?” Nicky whispered. Mark nodded.

“Yeah. The second one was good too.” He whispered back. Nicky wasn't sure why they were whispering. It wasn't like there was anyone else to interrupt. “What was the last thing you saw?”

“The last Star Wars movie.” He made a point of seeing them. He'd been high as fuck, but it had been a Star Wars movie, and he never missed them. It had at least been better than The Phantom Menace with it's stupid fucking podracing. “I found a used ticket in the rubbish and flashed it. They didn't know the difference.”

“Sneaky.” Mark murmured back. Silence reigned for a moment. “Are you high right now?”

“Not really.” Nicky whispered back. “Why?”

“Just interested.” Mark went silent again. Nicky shifted awkwardly. “How long until you have to...”

“I can just leave if it's a problem.” Nicky looked at him. Mark was going pink, shaking his head.

“No. Sorry. I didn't mean...” Mark bit his lip. “Sorry.” Wolverine was running around in the snow, fighting Sabretooth and Toad. It was kind of cool. “I've never taken drugs.”

“Okay.” Nicky snorted. “Congratulations. I've never had a driver's license.” They both turned back to the movie. Storm's eyes went white. “So.... never?”

“No.” Mark whispered back. “I tried to smoke a joint in college, but I got really paranoid and threw up.” Nicky started laughing. “Shut up.”

“It's fine. It's adorable.” Nicky snorted. “You drink, though. And you smoke cigarettes.”

“That doesn't count.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can still...” He trailed off. Nicky had a good idea of how that sentence was going to end. I can still hold a job. I can still afford rent. I can still buy food and clothes. I can still stop. “Sorry.” He said quietly. Nicky shrugged. “I'm really clueless about this. I have no idea what it's like.”

“It's fine.” They settled back into silence. Mark got up to get ice-cream, then sat back down. It was a big tub of chocolate with two spoons in. It was sweet, almost too sugary. “I get sweaty first.” He said after a few minutes of awkward silence. “Then everything starts to hurt. Then I get cramps and my mind starts racing. Like... _racing_ racing. Like it's going so fast I might scream because I can't catch up. And I can't sleep but I have nightmares anyway. And I sneeze. Which sounds okay but it tastes fucking disgusting and...” He looked down at his hands. “And that's the first 48 hours. After that...”

“How... how long have you gone?”

“Three days.” He said. “Day two you get the runs. And the twitches. My legs kept moving like I was trying to ride a bike. It feels like...” He bit his lip, trying to think how best to describe it. “It's like being dragged behind a speedboat, but there's an anchor tied around your legs and no matter how hard you try you can't get to the surface to take a breath, and you're suffocating and you can't see but you can't slow down either. And you pray for it to end but it won't.”

Mark didn't reply.

When Nicky looked up he was staring at the TV.

“I'm sorry.” Mark said. “I don't know what to say.”

“Yeah, I usually don't.” Nicky admitted.

“Why do you do it, then?”

“Because if I don't, I feel like that.”

“But... why start, then?”

“Because the first time is like being fucked by God.” Nicky replied. He heard a soft, surprised laugh, and smiled. “Everything feels good. Food is good, sex is good. Your skin feels like it's been peeled off, rolled in glitter and then pasted back on again. And the things that suck don't suck. It's fucking fantastic.”

“What's it like now?”

“Like not having withdrawal.” Nicky said. It was true. That simple. “It feels like not feeling like shit.”

“Oh.” Mark was still sneaking looks at him. “And it's worth sleeping in the park?”

Nicky didn't know how to answer that. Not in sufficient detail. Not without explaining every moment that had led up to this one.

“Yeah.” He said finally. Because it was better than every alternative he'd been given.

“And you're just going to do that for the rest of your life?”

“I don't know.” Nicky replied. “Depends how long it is.”

 

*

 

The first time Nicky tried to kill himself he was sixteen. It was a bit shit, in retrospect, but he'd come home from school and nobody had been home. It had been a terrible fucking day. And so had the day before. And the day before that. He'd been sitting in class and a guy had spit on the back of his head. Just hocked one from the desk behind. His friends had started sniggering and Nicky had sat there, feeling it drip down the back of his neck and knowing there was no point telling the teacher. That it would be his fault. Because it always was. Because nobody had seen it, so what was he talking about? Just making shit up again, probably. They'd call his parents.

He really didn't need them to call his parents. Not again. Not after the cigarettes, and the fighting, and the knife in his bag. Never mind he'd brought it to defend himself.

They caught him under a bridge after school. He was going that way to avoid the bus stop, was going to walk home so he didn't have to sit and listen to people whispering.

Two of them held him while the other one punched him. A foot planted itself hard between his legs and when he tried to scream nothing came out. They dropped him. He fell to his knees. There was cum on his cheeks barely a minute later. He washed it off in dirty creek water, staring at his face in the murky reflection.

When he finally made it home, every step agony, he took off his clothes, climbed in the tub, and stayed under until he ran out of breath and came up, gasping.

Then he did it again. Until his chest burned and the edges of his vision started to blur.

The intention was to not come up, but he heard sudden movement from downstairs, muffled through the water and porcelain. Came up when he heard knocking on the door.

“Honey, are you in there?”

“I'm here!” He called back. “Out soon!”

“Okay!” She called back. “Your sister's friends are here. Don't be too long. I'm going to order pizza.”

“Thanks.”

He sat in the bath for a few more minutes until his sister banged on the door, wanting to use the toilet.

He got out, dried off, got dressed, and went downstairs. His mother put in the pizza order, asked how his day had been. He said fine. He ate two slices of pepperoni then went to bed, lay there staring at the ceiling and still able to feel the ghost of spit trickling down the back of his neck, thick and mocking.

 

*

 

They blazed through X-Men. It was pretty good. Then Die Hard. It was about as awesome as he remembered it. He was starting to get uncomfortable by the time it was over and ducked into the bathroom to do a line. If Mark realised he didn't mention it, just asked Nicky if he wanted anything proper for dinner.

Mark told him to stay the night again, if he wanted. Nicky said yes. He wasn't sure of the point, but it was warm here and if he spread his gear out he could probably get through another three days without having to make any money. The food was a bonus too.

“You want a beer or anything?”

“I'd love one. Yeah.” One was pressed into his hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Mark sat back down. “Do you want another movie, or do you want to save it for tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night?” Nicky raised an eyebrow. “Oh... don't worry. I'll be off by then.”

“I just thought it'd be easier. If you're coming to Shane's thing.”

“I...” He paused. Shane's thing. Right. If he was honest he'd never really intended to go. It had just seemed like the right thing to say at the time. This was fucking weird. Nobody ever asked him to stay. Not unless... “Do you want a blowjob or something?”

Mark laughed out loud, eyes going wide. Nicky stared. It wasn't a reaction he was used to getting.

“Erm... no thank you.” His voice sounded giggly and stunned. “Did I give the impression I did?” Nicky shrugged.

“You asked me to stay.”

“Yeah.” Mark replied, like it was all obvious. Nicky stared back. “To sleep. Indoors.”

“Right, so did you want me to like...” He gestured. “Like, if you want to fuck me you can, or... like, I can give you a handjob or something.”

“No. Thank you.” Mark had stopped laughing, but he was still looking at Nicky like he was from another planet. What the fuck was with this guy? What did he _want?_ “I um... I've got it covered. Thanks.”

“I'm clean. I don't do needles or anything.”

“That's not why...” Mark grimaced. “Seriously. I just didn't want you sleeping in the cold.”

“When do you want me to leave, then?” It wasn't like he was going to stay forever. “Do you want me to do a favour or something? I can do favours.”

“No favours. Thanks. Though if you want to do dishes, I won't say no.” A hand landed on his shoulder. “Look, I'm not asking you to move in or anything, but it's almost Christmas. You're okay company, my family live out west, and my two best friends are a bit caught up because...” He looked away, and Nicky realised he was tearing up. “Sorry.” He swallowed. “Ehm...”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I am. Yeah.” Mark chewed his bottom lip. “I didn't mean to.” He said quietly. “Kian keeps looking at me like I did it on purpose and I can't... I don't know how to fix it.” He looked up at Nicky. “I don't know who else to talk to.”

“I don't know that I'm the best choice.” Nicky pointed out. Mark shrugged.

“Maybe.” He admitted. “But you were nice. I didn't know anything else about you, but you were nice. I was looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Bit of a disappointment, then.”

“No. Well, yeah, but like...” Mark looked up. “I need to help someone. I can't help Shane, no matter how much I want to. I don't want someone else getting hurt because of me.”

“It wouldn't be your fault. I'm a disaster.”

“If you're here, though...”

“Mark...” He turned to face the other boy, crossing his legs up on the seat. He wasn't sure if he was flattered or insulted. “I'm not a stray cat.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Mark sniffed. “Sorry. I'm a mess. Ehm...” A harsh sob jolted from his lips, his hands coming up to cover his face. “Sorry. I don't... like, what am I supposed to do, like? What if he never walks again? What if...” He shook his head. “I can't...”

“Okay...” Nicky put an arm awkwardly around his shoulders. “It's okay.” Mark turned into him, and before Nicky knew it he was hugging the other man, holding him in while he cried. It was fucking weird, but Mark seemed a bit fragile and he had put him up for the night. Nicky couldn't exactly complain. “Shh...” He managed. “It's fine...” He was trying to think what people usually did when they were trying to be comforting. He couldn't remember the last time someone had comforted him, though his mother always used to sing to him when he was sad or sick.

“Sorry.” Mark croaked. Nicky stroked his hair, trying to figure out what to do.

“ _At home... drawing pictures of mountain tops...  
_ _With him on top... lemon yellow sun...  
_ _Arms raised in a V... and the dead lay in pools of maroon below...”_

“What are you singing?” Mark stiffened in his arms. Nicky looked down, feeling totally ineffective.

“Pearl Jam. Jeremy.” He admitted. “You said you wanted a song and it's the only one I know all the words to. That or Mr. Vain.”

“Mr. Vain?” Mark laughed wetly. “Really?”

“Yeah, I had it on tape.” Nicky grimaced. “I was cool.”

“Really cool.” Mark looked up. “You're a surprise, you know that?”

“I've been called worse.” He pulled away, patting Mark awkwardly on the back of the head. “You okay?”

“I'm okay.” Mark blinked at him, lashes still webbed with tears. “Look, I know you probably think I'm mad or trying to do this out of charity or something, but if you want to stay, you can stay.” He was flushed and looked a bit trembly, but he seemed honest enough. “If you want to leave you can do that too, but the offer's there.”

“Okay.” Nicky agreed even though he wasn't sure why. “Yeah. Okay. Why not?” He looked around. It was warm in here, and there was food. So, okay. It wouldn't be the first time he'd couch-surfed. “I'll sleep on the sofa, though.” Mark opened his mouth to protest, but Nicky shook his head. “I will. I don't want to argue it.”

“Okay.” Mark agreed. “Yeah.” His hand was laid carefully on Nicky's knee. “Thanks.”

 

*

 

The first time Nicky saw a dead person he was twenty-three. He'd been sat outside a closed bookstore in the city, begging for handouts. There were a few of them there. It wasn't a great spot, but it was a good way to feel out the others for information on who was holding or had good stuff. It was raining that night, icy cold, and the pickings were slim at best. Nicky was about to leave. He hadn't eaten yet and he'd seen someone throw half a box of KFC chips into a bin nearby.

“Bum a smoke?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, barely glancing at the guy next to him. He dug one out, handed it over. Watched the guy light up and take a drag, then begin to cough. Nicky stood up to check out the bin, peered in and managed to salvage the chips. He ate one experimentally. It was still warmish, seemed fine, so he went back to his spot, wanting to get out of the rain.

He sank back down. The guy was sitting there, cigarette still between his lips. Nicky closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. He must have nodded off, because he was woken by a spray of rain, the wind coming suddenly hard. He opened his eyes, stretching his legs a little to work out the stiffness from sleep.

It was a long moment before he realised the guy next to him still had a cigarette between his lips.

He figured he'd just gotten one from someone else. Wasn't really looking anyway. But after a while he realised it wasn't lit, and that the guy hadn't taken a drag for a long time. He looked over, ready to make some comment about wasting good tobacco.

The guy's eyes were open.

Nicky stared. Waited for something. A blink. A twitch.

Carefully he reached out, poking the guy's shoulder. Nothing. In the jolting numbness of his surprise he almost snatched the cigarette back. There was still three quarters of it left. Then he felt a sick rise in his stomach, wanted to throw up. Poked him again. The woman on his other side must have noticed, because she poked the guy too. They looked at each other.

Nicky watched her get up and walk away.

After a minute he did too.

 

*

 

Nicky didn't know what time it was when he woke up. He could see the glow of the street lights but couldn't hear any cars. He was dying for a pee, though, and struggled to his feet, stumbling slightly in the dark. The light in the bathroom hurt his eyes when he turned it on. He looked in the mirror, pulling a face. He looked cleaner, but for some reason didn't look better, like with all the grime and hair gone the face underneath was disappointing. His cheekbones were like folded cardboard. He ran a hand over his chin, feeling the slight prickle of returning stubble.

He used the toilet, turned off the light on the way back to the sofa. Then he lingered in the hall for a moment, sure he'd heard something.

He heard it again. Soft. It was a familiar noise, the sound of quiet crying. He'd heard it a lot over the years, usually from fold-out cots in shelters, or from the toilet stall next door. This was the same, like someone trying not to be heard. Intensely sorrowful and secret.

He collapsed back onto the sofa, tugging the blankets back up.

It was none of his business.

 


	8. Chapter 8

He'd forgotten how wonderful it was sleeping inside. He'd done it here and there in the last few years, of course. Mostly at Bryan's, though before that he'd basically couch-surfed his way through life, especially in the winter. The offers had dried up after a while. Early on he'd been Nicky, who would maybe make it worth your while, was a bit of fun, knew how to have a good time. Now it seemed he was Nicky the fuck-up. The one who was too fucked up to be allowed in the front door. Who might blow you, but should probably get out right after.

This sofa wasn't amazing, but it was soft and warm, the blanket clean and dry. When he woke it was light outside. Not just gone dawn, but properly light, a soft rain pattering outside the window. He closed his eyes again, sinking into the feeling. The shower was running in the other room.

When he opened his eyes again it was to the smell of coffee. He couldn't see Mark, but could hear him pattering about behind him in the kitchen, hear mugs clinking and the vacuum suck of the fridge being opened. He rolled onto his back, thinking he should say something but also wanting to stay here enjoying the sounds of domesticity. Of things just being normal, people doing normal things. Getting on with their lives and getting to feel, for once, a little bit included.

“You awake?” Mark said it quietly, like he was afraid Nicky wasn't and didn't want to wake him. It was perversely sweet.

“Yeah.” He called back. His throat croaked around it. He coughed. A second later Mark's head poked over the back of the sofa, smiling down at him.

“You want a coffee?”

“Please.” He stretched. Mark laughed. “What?”

“Nothing. Your hair's all over the place.” Mark disappeared back to the kitchen. Nicky lifted a hand self-consciously.

“Well, I haven't been to a salon in a bit.”

“True.” He heard boiling water, the scrape of a teaspoon. A mug came over the back of the sofa, and he took it, sitting up to take a sip. “I'm going to go have a smoke if you want to come?”

Nicky did. He grabbed his things on the way, smoothing his hair as he went. It was a bit messy, he supposed. Came down to below his ears, though at least it wasn't greasy, not with having showered the day before. It was cold outside. Mark kicked a pair of slippers his way, which helped. He took a sip of his coffee, fumbling open his cigarettes with the other hand.

He dropped them. Mark laughed, bending to pick them up, then paused, the open pack in his hand.

“Oh. Yeah.” Nicky snatched them back, snapping the box closed to hide the little twist of plastic in the lid. Mark looked at him.

“Right.”

“Yeah.” Nicky sighed, taking another sip from his coffee, wondering why he felt bad all of a sudden. It was none of Mark's business. It wasn't hurting him. Mark didn't even look the way people usually did. Condescension, pity, disgust. Those weren't new at all. He was used to those. Mark took a drag on his own cigarette, looking out over the balcony.

“When are you going to...”

“In a bit.” He admitted. He opened the box again, dug out a cigarette, and let Mark light it. “I'm running low, so I'm trying to spread it out.”

“What will you do when you run out?”

“Get more.” Nicky shrugged. “I don't know.” He looked down at the smoking cigarette in his hand. Lifted it back to his lips, leaning against the railing. Mark sank down into the chair against the wall, looking up at him.

“Do you want to go get a haircut today?” Nicky almost laughed in surprise. Mark smiled. “What? The barber on the corner does them for like a tenner.”

“Is that what happened to yours?” Nicky teased, saw Mark blush a little, then realised that had come off as mean. He reached out to tousle Mark's hair, wanting to take the sting out of his words. “Sorry, it's fine. You're cute.” He assured the other man. “I'm an arse.”

Mark looked a little pleased. He was a nice guy. Seemed a bit uncomfortable in his own skin, but in a way that was sweet and self-conscious. Always seemed to keep his limbs in tighter to his body, like he was afraid of taking up too much space. Fidgety, too, tugging his clothes and scratching the back of his neck. It was like he was constantly a few seconds from having a school photo taken.

“I have to go get groceries today, anyway. We have to go right past. I'm happy to stop in.”

“I don't want you spending money on me.”  
  
“I'll still accept a song as payment.”

“Yeah, fuck off.” Nicky snorted, saw Mark smile. He took another sip of his coffee. It was cooling fast in the icy air, but still tasted pretty good. “You want me to clear out while you do groceries?”

“I just figured you'd come with me.” Mark shrugged. “I don't know what you like.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, I mean I don't want to come home with a ton of stuff and find out you're like... allergic to nuts or gluten or something.”

“No, I mean, I'm not staying. Why does it matter?”

“Why aren't you staying?”

“Why would I be?”

“What else are you going to do?”

“I have a life, you know.” Nicky wanted to cross his arms, but one was holding his coffee cup and the other had a cigarette in it. He managed an indignant scowl instead. Mark frowned.

“So you've got somewhere else to stay, then?”

“Sure. Phoenix Park. It's a one stop. There's work, there's guys supplying, and if you get in early you can find a good spot to sleep in the toilet block or in the back of Ashtown Castle.”

“That's not...” Mark bit his lip. “Nicky...”

“Yes, mam?”

“I...” Mark closed his mouth again, went pink. Nicky looked away, feeling defensive. “It's up to you.” Mark said finally. “Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Nicky sighed. “Sorry. I'm edgy.”

“Because of...”

“No. Well, a bit, but...” He looked around. It was cold out here, but inside it looked warm, the lights on and the sofa just visible through the door, the blanket piled on top. “Sorry. Just... don't try to fix me, okay? I really hate when people do that. Everyone always thinks they know what I need. Nobody ever asks, they just want to make themselves feel better.”

“What do you need?”

Nicky didn't know how to respond to that. He looked down at his coffee. It was almost gone. He could see his reflection in the murk at the bottom.

“You got a time machine?”

“Not on me.” Mark patted his pockets. Nicky was startled into a laugh. “Where would you go back to?”

“I don't know.” Nicky admitted. He couldn't find a point. One that had just been... not shit. He was sure there had been some, but they'd started to fade, to trickle backwards, all the other shit in the way. He couldn't look at it without seeing what had happened since. “Maybe when my mam and dad were getting on the job. Do something to stop it.”  
  
“What, you'd not want to be born?”

“Couldn't hurt.” That idea made him want to cry, though he wasn't sure why. If he'd never been born he wouldn't know the difference anyway. “I don't think the universe would mind, to be honest.”

“I would.”

“You don't know me.” Nicky shook his head. Mark stubbed out his cigarette. Nicky took another drag on his, wanting to get as much out of it as possible. “My thirteenth birthday.” He said. “I'd go back to that.”

“Why?”

“Because it was the last time I remember feeling...” He finished the cigarette, put it out in what was left of his coffee, and put the mug down. “I'd just changed schools. I really liked my old school. I had loads of friends. It was nice. And the new one was okay at first. Like, for the first six months or so things were okay. I didn't have as many friends but there were one or two that I got on with. Then on my birthday my mam invited all my old friends around. It was a surprise. I got home from school and they were all there, and there were balloons and streamers and shit and we played football and ate cake.”

“What would you change?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “That day was perfect.” He looked down at his feet, at the sodden cigarette butt floating in cold coffee. “A few weeks later I went to school and someone had written faggot across my locker in Sharpie. I'd go to my birthday, and then I'd stay and wait for him to do it. I'd beat the shit out of him with a cricket bat, write faggot across his forehead, and string him up in front of the whole school. So nobody would ever fucking touch me again.”

When he looked up Mark was staring at him, eyes wide. Nicky picked up the mug.

“Mind if I use your bathroom? I want to take a shower.”

Mark nodded silently. Nicky clapped him on the shoulder on the way back into the house.

 

*

 

Nicky first fell in love when he was nineteen.

It was with a very sweet boy who worked the checkout at the local supermarket. He'd been doing okay at the time, had been out of home for almost a year, was sort of holding down a job and sleeping on Bryan's sofa. There was a guy at a club he frequented who had packages to send out in return for favours, and that was something Nicky could do. He didn't care what the favours were, didn't care what they were getting in return, just that he wasn't having to bend over in the process. Part of him was proud he'd been trusted with the responsibility, the rest of him knew he'd been chosen because he was expendable. That if he got caught it was nobody else's problem.

He'd just dropped off a small package at the loading bay, slipping it to one of the guys unloading pallets of oranges off the back of a truck, had gotten a nod and an envelope back. Then he figured he was hungry, had a bit of money in his pocket, and headed back inside to pick up a chocolate bar.

He grabbed a Snickers, went to the counter, and just as the barcode was beeping he looked up and caught blue eyes and a smile. The nametag said Patrick.

Nicky was usually good at the chat up, but that day he had no idea what to say, had just asked how his day was going. They started talking about the match that afternoon, and somehow Nicky managed to ask him if he wanted to meet at the pub to watch it.

They ended up kissing that night. Nicky thought he was going to be asked back to Patrick's, but Patrick had said he wasn't really ready and wasn't out yet, not even to his parents. It was sweet. Nicky was too used to people who treated sex like something frank and obvious, but as the weeks went on and he saw Patrick again he started liking the innocence, the way that he seemed to treat holding hands like a big deal, with more nervousness than most people would treat asking for a blowjob.

He was sweet, and kind, and Nicky fell madly in love with him.

They went out for three months. On the last day they saw each other Nicky was fucked up and had just lost his job when a bit of money had gone missing. It hadn't been his fault, but explanations didn't help and he was out on his arse. A few days later he was getting desperate, figured he could at least make enough to get himself through the week and had gone to the train station toilets. He'd just finished blowing a middle-aged man and stepped out of the stall, wiping his mouth and trying not to look in the mirror.

Patrick came in just as he stepped out.

Their eyes locked, Patrick's face lighting up.

Then the john stepped out of the same stall, still doing up his belt.

Patrick's face fell.

“Patrick...”

The other boy shook his head, a tear spilling down his face, and stormed past into a stall, locking the door.

 

*

 

“You look nice.” Mark whispered. Nicky looked around, trying to figure out why they were whispering. When he looked back Mark was smiling.

“Thanks.” He reached up, running a hand through his hair. It was weird. Felt too short. It wasn't that short, just a standard short back and sides, though the barber had put some mousse in it and slicked it up at the front. He'd flattened it back down immediately. “It feels weird.” He looked down into the cart he was pushing. He'd insisted. It felt wrong letting Mark do it.

“Good weird?”

“Dunno. Weird weird.” A box of teabags flew past his eyeline and rattled into the bottom of the trolley. “Is this a bet or something? Like My Fair Lady?”

“Yes.” Mark said seriously. Nicky looked over in surprise, then realised Mark was smirking. He started to laugh. After a second Nicky joined in too. “You've seen My Fair Lady?”

“Why would I not have?”

“I don't know.” Mark grabbed some coffee as well. “Didn't see you as the musicals type.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I mean... you're into Star Wars and X-Men and stuff. I just...”

“So are you.”

“Yeah.” Mark fell silent, grabbed a few more things off the shelves. “You're really defensive, you know that?”

“No I'm not.”

“Exactly.” Mark snorted. Nicky rolled his eyes. He didn't mean to be, he just got a bit agitated when he was on the comedown. “I'm not suggesting anything, I promise. I was just having a conversation.”

“Oh.” A box flashed past and he paused, hands tightening on the handle of the cart. “Hey, Weetos.” He picked them up. Mark stopped to look. “I haven't had these in years. They used to cut the shit out of my mouth.”

“Get them.”

“It's fine.” He put them back. Mark picked them up a moment later, tossing them into the cart. “You don't have to.”

“I'll probably eat half of them. Anyway, they come with free Batman crayons, and who doesn't want that?” He got a smile. A box of Coco Puffs landed on top of them. “You ate them when you were a kid?”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded. “My mam used to get them. We had to have fruit or bran every day, but on Sundays we got to have an unhealthy one. I always picked Weetos.” A sudden lump settled in his throat. “My sister and I would fight over who got the toy.”

“Who won?”

“Usually my little brother.” Nicky admitted. “He used to get all the toys.”

“How old is he?”

“Eight.” Nicky paused. “No. Fifteen. He'd be fifteen now. Adam. He was...” He bit his lip. “My sister Gillian was class. We used to be thick as thieves. She was a little bit older than me, but she had it together. She was always going to be something, our Gill.”

“What's she doing now?”

“Don't know.” Nicky admitted. “Haven't seen her since I left.”

“You haven't seen any of them?”

“No.” Nicky shook his head. “I left when I was eighteen. They kicked me out.”  
  
“Why?"

“Because...” Mark wasn't looking at him. It made it better, somehow. The last time he'd been asked these questions it was in a pastel green room and they'd all been sitting in a circle, his parents staring at him. “You ever wish people would stop telling you what you shouldn't be doing and actually listen to why you're doing it?” He saw Mark hitch a shoulder.

“I guess.” He said. “Maybe when I was coming out and people kept saying 'oh, but have you tried liking girls?' It was sort of...” He sighed. “I don't know. I know people were trying to be helpful, but it was like they were trying to undermine me. It took that long to figure myself out, and it made me question myself, you know?”

“When did you come out?”

“To my family? Probably when I was about sixteen. Then I told Kian, and it turned out he and Shane had told each other a year ago. I was so pissed off, because I remember thinking it would have been easier for me, because then I could have had someone to talk to. After that I was just kind of relieved that I wasn't the only one. I didn't start identifying myself in public until I was maybe twenty or so.”

“Why not?”

“Too hard. It was college, and I was looking at doing teaching and I wasn't sure if it was a good idea or not. I didn't want to ruin my career before it started. Now I just don't say anything. People can think what they want. Everyone who matters already knows.” He glanced at Nicky over his shoulder as they turned the corner. “When did you come out?”

“I don't know that I did.” They were passing the deli counter. Mark leaned over, started to get a few bits, and Nicky looked through the glass, staring in at cheeses and olives and things. Mark saw him looking.

“What did you want?"

“Nothing.” He said automatically. Mark raised an eyebrow. “The little sausages look nice.” The man behind the counter was wrapping them up a minute later. “I knew I was gay.” He continued as they moved back over to the aisles. “Then the whole school found out. My parents got called. I didn't really get a chance to...” He shrugged.

“How did they find out?”

“One kid found out and told everyone. A couple of weeks later I got in a fight. Well, I fought back, anyway. They said it was my fault. Mam asked what happened, and the guy said I'd come onto him, then hit him when he said no.”

“Shit.” Mark breathed. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Nicky agreed. “It did. I got beat up a lot after that, but there was no point saying anything. It was always my fault. I started skipping school. Mam found out about that too. Then a couple of months after that he said he'd stop the others from doing it if I gave him a handjob.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Mark hissed in a breath. “By the time I was fourteen I was blowing him once a week. Then the rest of the guys as well. It didn't stop them beating me up, but at least it happened a bit less. And I stopped getting in trouble as much. Silver linings.”

“Jesus. Did you tell your parents?”

“I tried.” Nicky said. “They spoke to the kids' parents. They all said I was making it up. Which made things even worse at school. And by that point I was lying about everything else, so of course they didn't believe me. My dad had already found my stash by then. It wasn't even a good one. Two eccys and a joint. They made me see a counsellor. I didn't want to see a counsellor. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone.” He looked away. Mark's eyes were hot on the back of his neck. Nicky picked up a box of juice. “You mind if I get this?”

“That's fine.” Mark's voice sounded brittle. Nicky looked back over. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“That that happened.”

“Why?” Nicky shrugged. “You didn't do it.”

“Yeah, but...” Mark shook his head. “I'm really sorry anyway.”

“Okay.” He pushed the cart a little faster, rounding the next corner. Then it was back towards the checkout. Mark paid, obviously. Nicky watched the card get swiped, watched him hit the buttons. It went through, just like that. A few twenties were visible in the folds of Mark's wallet. Nicky wiped his nose. It was starting to run a bit, his eyes tearing up.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded. He'd been feeling sweaty for a while, on edge. “Just a bit...” He shook his head. Helped Mark get the things into the car. They went back to the flat, and while Mark was unloading everything Nicky went into the bathroom and came out feeling a lot better.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner was a bowl of Weetos on the sofa while Mark had a tidy. They were as good as he remembered, though they still cut the shit out of the roof of his mouth. Mark got him another bowl when he ran out. Nicky ate those too, cross-legged on the sofa in a pair of Mark's pyjamas.

“Do you need something to wear tomorrow?”

“It's fine.” Shane's thing. Right. “I've got jeans.”

“Right, and a shirt?”

“I have one of those.”

“Okay.” Mark picked it up. “This is falling apart.”

“Yeah, it probably is.” Nicky looked at it. It was threadbare, though after six months of constant wear that wasn't a surprise. “Oh well.” He looked back at the bowl. He didn't know what Mark expected him to say. “Do you have more milk?”

“Yeah.” Mark put the shirt down to go to the fridge. “If you want to head back out we can stop in somewhere, get you some clothes?”

“Mark...” Nicky sighed. “Stop spending money on me, okay? Really. You might as well throw it in the bin, honestly. It's My Fair Lady again. I'm not staying.”

“Maybe I have some old...”

“Mark.” He put the spoon down. “No.” He saw Mark freeze, look down at his feet with a blush. Which just made him feel worse. It was fucking stupid. Usually when someone was offering he'd take anything he could get before he was inevitably fucked off, but Mark didn't appear to want anything in return and that was deeply unsettling. Mark didn't have much, and Nicky couldn't make himself owe this lad anything. “You really need a new hobby.”

“I have hobbies.”

“Like what?” Nicky looked around. The place was fairly sparse, though there were a few family photos on the walls.

“Like... reading and watching TV and...” Mark shrugged. “I used to go out with Shane and Kian a lot.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah, well, it's not really...” Mark sighed. “We used to do karaoke most Friday nights. I work a lot...” He sank down. “I'm really tired.” He said quietly. “I used to do things all the time. But work's just... and I think maybe I should try but I only really know Shane and Kian and now I don't know what to...” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Fuck, I'm sad.”

“Yeah, a bit.” Nicky said gently. Mark snorted a laugh. “You're hanging out with me. That's bottom of the barrel.” He took Mark's hand, not sure why he was doing it. Fingers slid in between his, squeezing. “We're not friends.” He said quietly. “And that's not because I don't like you. You're a nice guy and you've helped me out but I don't want help. I don't need it.” He looked up, saw a bitten lip and downcast eyes.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to help.” Mark said softly. “I'm so tired of sitting around and not doing anything for anyone. I fucked up and now I don't know what to do.”

“I'm not broken.” Nicky said. “And if I am it's not something you can fix. My parents tried to fix me. I don't want fixing. I want...”

“You want someone to get it.” Mark finished. It hadn't been what he'd been about to say, but it was the truth. Nicky swallowed. “Nobody gets it.” He added. “I'm so tired all the time, and there's this thing in my stomach that feels like lead and I'm so angry. At myself. At...” He squeezed Nicky's hand. “How am I supposed to talk about that? Oh, I might have ruined my best friend's life because I'm a fucking idiot. That's...” He shook his head. “Food tastes wrong. Does that sound weird? I'm not even hungry, but it tastes wrong. I used to sing all the time. Like, in the shower and stuff, and now I can't even find the words. I think I hate hearing my own voice.”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded. “I know that one.” Mark looked teary. He felt a shiver run up his spine. “And everything just fucking sucks, and it doesn't matter if people say it's okay, because you know it isn't. Because they don't _know_ and you want to switch off. Check out.”

“Yeah.” Mark said quietly. “I do.” He swallowed. “I... yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this your problem.” Nicky shrugged. “Do you want to be here? You don't have to be.”

“I...” Nicky glanced around the apartment. It was nice here. Clean, warm. There was hot water and soap and food. “I don't know.” He admitted. “Last time I stayed with someone I set their rug on fire.”

“On purpose?”

“No. Things just seem to... happen.” He let go of Mark's hand. “This isn't a saviour thing. I'm not going to get clean, and I'm not going to suddenly discover that I was a better person all along. You can't leave me here on my own, because you don't trust me. I don't trust me. I'll do what I always do. I'll use you until I have to leave, because you won't be able to let me stay. I'll keep it together for a bit, and one night I'll get so fucked up I'll... I'll steal from you. Or I'll damage something that can't be fixed. Or I'll say something I can't take back. I'm a leech.” He looked at Mark. “I'm not a good person.”

“If you weren't, why would you try to stop me?” Mark pointed out. “Wouldn't you just do all that anyway? Fuck me over?”

“I'm a riddle.” Nicky stood up. “Or a joke. Either way, the punchline sucks.” He dug in his pocket. “You really want me to stay?” Mark nodded. “Great. I'm about to go do the last of my gear in your bathroom. Come watch. Then see how you feel. This'll be the... fifth time since I've been here. When I run out, I'm going to go find someone to fuck me for money, then I'm going to buy more. Maybe one of these days I'll get a shitty batch and OD. Life's fun like that.” Mark's mouth dropped open. Nicky nodded, heading towards the bathroom. “Come on, then."

 

*

 

“How do you feel?”

“Okay.” Nicky swallowed. “Won't kick in for a bit.” He blinked. He felt a little warm, but that was standard, a floaty sense of wellbeing starting to trickle through his system as he sat on the edge of the sink. Mark was watching him, concern written across his face. He looked down at the bag. He'd have to head out soon, sort himself out for some cash.

Mark had just watched him snort two lines off the bathroom counter. As Nicky watched he gingerly wiped the residue off with a cloth. As though it was going to bite him or something. It was adorable.

“Nicky?”

“Mmm...” He opened his eyes, not having realised he'd closed them. “What?”

“Just... checking.” Mark pursed his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Grand.” He blinked hard, felt himself nod slightly. “You're looking at me like I'm a lab rat. You want to take notes or something?” He saw Mark blush pink.

“Sorry.”

“S'fine.” He licked his lips. Dry mouth. “Did you see that movie where Obi-Wan falls in the toilet?” Mark squinted at him, tilting his head. Nicky smiled back.

“Do... you mean Trainspotting?”

“That one.” He reached out a hand, wanting touch all of a sudden. Mark's fingers folded slowly into his. “And there was the baby on the ceiling.”

“Right...”

“That was fucked up.” Nicky sucked in a deep breath. Shit, there it was. Fuck. Fuck. He closed his eyes again. “Oh, there were go.” He let out the breath, feeling himself relax. The hand in his squeezed. “That's a bit fucking better.”

“It feels good?”

“It feels like not feeling shit.” He opened his eyes. Mark was looking concerned, though he had half a smile flitting nervously at the corner of his mouth. “Come here.” Mark stepped a little closer, then Nicky heard a laugh when he wrapped himself around the other boy, arms looping around his shoulders, legs catching his thighs. “You feel amazing.” Nicky sighed. He'd wanted to do this for the last few days, just feel warmth and skin on his. It had been a long time.

“What's going on?”

“I'm just...” Mark's shoulder was broad and soft. “Just gonna do this for a second. Won't be long.”

“Right.” Mark chuckled, arms coming around Nicky, holding him tight. “Didn't take you for a hugger.”

“I'm not.” Nicky yawned. “Mmm...” This was nice. Warm. He could go to sleep like this. Hands stroked his back slowly. He could feel them bumping over the xylophone of his ribs. He heaved out a breath, heard Mark snort a laugh, hands still stroking him. It was soft, fingers tracing down his spine, then back up. “Hugs are nice.” He nuzzled into Mark's shoulder.

“Hugs _are_ nice.” Mark's voice was a little mocking. Nicky didn't care. “I feel like I'm taking care of Shane when he gets drunk. He always turns into a hugger. Kian's more of a biter.” Nicky smiled at the kiss brushing his hair.

“Biter?”

“Yeah. Just starts tackling people, trying to bite them. He gets overexcited.” Mark paused. “You still coming to Shane's tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Nicky shrugged. That sounded like something he could do. Right about now he could do anything. “I have to go out in a bit.”

“Where you going?”

“Park.” He licked his lips again, trying to wet his mouth. “Gotta... do the thing to get the thing. You know.” He opened his eyes. “I'll head off in a bit.”

“You're going to just... have sex with someone?”

“I'm gonna let someone fuck me.” Nicky corrected. “I'll be back in a few hours.” He waited for Mark to say something noble about how he'd give Nicky money, if that was what he needed, but Mark didn't reply. The hands kept stroking his back.

“Don't you get scared?”

“No.” Nicky said honestly. “Not really. It's just a fuck.”

“I guess.” Mark sighed. “It usually takes me about four beers before I'll even get my kit off in front of someone the first time.”

“Why?”

“Cos like...” There was a self-conscious laugh in his ear. “You know. It's all worrying about what the other person thinks and that. I'm not amazing looking, I know, but...”

“You're cute.” Nicky assured him. Mark made a sound that was almost pleased. Shy, but pleased. “Why do you care what they think?”

“Because we're about to have sex. I don't want to be like... offputting. Which I know is stupid, because it's not like I'm judging them back. Like, I guess I am a little bit, but I'm not obsessing over stupid things like if their arse is a bit fat or whatever. So long as I like them.”

“There's your problem, then.” Nicky let go, ruffling Mark's hair. He felt good. Felt great, actually. Better than he had in a long time.

“What?”

Nicky shrugged, hopping down off the sink.

“You care what they think.”

 

*

 

The first time Nicky actually fucked someone for money he was eighteen and had been staying on a mate's sofa for almost six months. Oh, he'd had sex with people for other reasons before that. Protection, drugs, favours. It wasn't difficult. The pain was negligible, and he was usually numbed out on something, so it didn't really matter. But he was slowly starting to realise that as good as scoring was, there was a certain level of power in exchanging services for a nice, tangible handful of bills. He almost felt like he was using them. Sad, pathetic people who apparently couldn't do much better than fucking a burnout in the seediest places possible.

One of his mate's mates was doing it. Making good money, too, so Nicky asked how to get in. What the protocol was. They went out that night, stood on a street corner near one of the gay clubs, both of them cold and breathing clouds of fog, jackets tugged tight around them.

His mate's mate got taken first, gave someone a nod, got a nod back, and climbed into a car. Then he was gone. Just like that. Nicky stood there another twenty minutes before another car pulled up.

He felt sick and nervous, sitting there in the passenger seat. Wasn't sure why. He wondered if this was the step. The moment between fucking for favours and making a career choice. Cementing his destiny. Then he realised that was probably the combination of painkillers, vodka and Red Bull talking and that he should probably stop overthinking.

They ended up at a motel a few blocks over. Nicky threw up in the toilet, ate a handful of mentos to cover the taste, then lay down on the bed. The guy tried to make conversation. Nicky took off his pants, lay back down on his front, and let the guy just... do whatever the fuck he felt like. It didn't take all that long. The guy kept calling Nicky 'Laura'. He was wearing a wedding ring.

When it was done the guy started crying. Nicky took the money and left.

 

*

 

Mark dropped him off at the park. It felt a bit weird, like having his dad drop him off at a friend's place for the weekend. He said he'd make his own way back when he was done.

Mark tore up a receipt from his wallet, scribbled his number down, and told Nicky to call if he needed to be picked up.

Things were fairly quiet when he got there. It wasn't snowing, but there was a heavy feeling in the air, sort of metallic. It had gotten a little warmer, that slight humidity before an oncoming storm, and the sky was blanketed with white clouds fading to grey. He wandered around for a while, checking out the usual spots, and by the time he found some business it was almost dark, a patchy rain stippling the ground like acne.

He blew a guy in a car near the Glen, going slow when the guy asked for it that way. He wiped off his hands and mouth, got back to work within twenty minutes, and five minutes after that was nodding at a nervous twenty-something that had virgin written all over him.

Three jobs later it was almost eleven at night, the cold settling in hard. He couldn't see how dark the clouds were, but there wasn't a star in sight and sleety rain was starting to puddle in the corner of the toilet block. He started heading back into town wishing he was back at Mark's, in the warm and the dry, watching Die Hard and eating popcorn. A hot cup of tea and a dressing gown that smelled like cologne and soap. Sitting on a bathroom sink with hands stroking his back.

It was one-thirty before he was able to score. His guy had gotten fired from the McDonalds at some point in the last few weeks, apparently, though when the manager told him it had been with a disdainful look that left Nicky under no illusions as to the circumstances. Everyone else seemed to be inside, out of the cold, and by the time he managed an hour's walk to a council flat everyone there was asleep or passed out. He shoved the money through the door, got three grams for his troubles, and figured that could at least get him through to the end of the week if he rationed it, depending on how pure it was.

He walked back to Mark's place. Knocked on the door at three in the morning. It opened a minute later, Mark looking sleepless and tired, and when he stepped inside there was already a set of pyjamas draped over the end of the sofa.

“Thanks.” He managed to say.

Mark nodded, yawned, and went to bed.

 

*

 

When he woke the house was quiet. It was almost eight in the morning, but there was no movement, no smell of food or sound of Mark pottering around. He sat up on the sofa, feeling his joints complain. Went to the bathroom. He was constipated as hell, and it was a good half hour before he gave up completely and took a quick shower, scrubbing the smell of tobacco, grime and cum off him with a blue loofah, the smell of strawberry and kiwi-fruit filling the shower stall.

When he came out towelling off there was still no sign of Mark. He headed to the kitchen, thought about getting the kettle on. Mark's wallet was sitting on the kitchen counter.

He stared at it for a long time, fingers scratching at his arm. It was black, square, the leather a bit frayed around the edge. His stomach rolled, a sick heave, and he looked up when he heard a sound, startled. Glared at the branch scratching on the window.

His hands reached out without him giving them permission, and then the wallet was open. Two twenties, a handful of change bulging in the pocket. A bank card, two credit cards. A driver's license.

He looked at it. Awkward smiling face, blushing cheeks. A terrible photo, by all accounts, but...

He put the wallet back down, not able to stand Mark looking at him.

When he went back to the bathroom to get his clothes he paused, thinking he could hear something through the silence of the flat. Pressed his ear to the door. Soft sobbing. His hand was pressing the door open before he'd thought about it, not thinking that he was still a bit damp and wrapped in no more than a towel, not thinking that maybe the door was closed for a reason. Mark looked up, eyes wet and face red, then pulled the blankets up, buried himself down like he was trying to hide.

Nicky slid in beside him, tossing the towel on the floor. Pulled him into a hug. Mark didn't seem to notice he was naked. A face buried itself in his neck, his hand carding into dark hair, the other wrapping around a solid waist while arms came around his own, pulling him in tight.

He didn't bother saying anything, just held on tight and let himself fall back to sleep, feeling soft breaths even out against his shoulder.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Shane and Kian's place was really fucking nice. Like... really nice. He'd expected a place like Mark's, but instead it reminded him a bit of his childhood home, the staircase next to the front door, the fireplace in the living room. He didn't know what they bloody did, but to have a place like this at their age someone must have died or they must be doing something illegal. Maybe both. There was a huge Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, candy canes hung off the branches. Shane offered him one.

“This place is amazing.” Nicky commented. Kian looked up.

“Thanks. We only bought it a few months ago.” He was standing behind Shane's chair, had done so since they'd come in. “I was all ready to go for something smaller, but Shane insisted.”

“Don't blame me.” Shane laughed. “Your name's on the mortgage as well.” He turned, looking up at Kian. “Sort of regretting it now, though. Kian keeps having to carry me up the stairs to bed.”

“Don't mind at all.” A kiss landed on the back of Shane's head. They both smiled. Mark did too, though he had that trembly look still, the one he'd had that morning when they'd laid in bed together, Mark's cheeks wet and Nicky not sure how to make it better. Alone and tired and small. Now they were in a bright room full of people, and there was dip. He could smell something hot from the kitchen.

The doorbell rang. Kian looked up, then excused himself. Shane smiled, looking pointedly at Nicky.

“Don't you have a shirt just like that, Mark?”

“Oh... er... similar, I guess.” Nicky adjusted his collar. It was a bit big, but his own shirt was wet and a bit dirty after last night so he hadn't really had a choice. “I don't know. It's a blue shirt. They all look the same.”

“Right.” Shane raised an eyebrow, wheeled away to the front door where a bunch of people were coming in. Nicky watched Mark sag slightly with relief.

“I think he bought it.” Nicky whispered sarcastically. Mark snorted.

“Fuck off.” He sighed. “He thinks we're sleeping together.”

“Probably, yeah.” Nicky laughed, heading for the snacks. He grabbed a handful of crisps. “Could be worse. He could think you're letting a homeless junkie crash in your flat.” He saw Mark's mouth open to deny it, then close. Nicky filled his own mouth with crisps, grabbed a few more handfuls.

“You can go back for seconds.” Mark laughed, moving the bowl away. “You don't have to hoard.” Nicky shrugged, looking down at the two handfuls of crisps.

“Sorry.” He swallowed, gratefully dumping the crisps onto the paper plate Mark handed out, dusting crumbs off his fingers. “Erm...” He took the plate, reached over to grab a cupcake as well.

It was weird, being in a packed house again, people everywhere, chatting and eating. The heat was turned up, sudden bursts of laughter echoing from random points in the house. People came over to talk to Mark, introduced themselves to Nicky. He introduced himself back. Didn't know what to say when people asked him innocuous questions about what he did and how he knew Shane and Kian. Mark wandered off at one point and he found himself standing awkwardly near the Christmas tree, resisting the urge to fill his pockets with candy canes.

“Nicky.” He looked up. Mark was stood near the door. He headed over, picking his way through people, sidled out onto the patio. It was cold. Cold enough to punch the air out of his lungs. Mark handed him a cigarette. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He let Mark light it. “Why?”

“Just look a bit lost.”

“I'm fine. Just don't know anyone.” He shrugged. “Shane has a lot of friends.”

“Half of them are family. Shane and Kian are both one of seven.” Mark nodded back at the door.

“Jesus, their parents must have liked each other.”

“I'd hope so.” Mark laughed. Nicky looked through the glass. Come to think of it, a lot of them did look a bit like Shane or Kian, and there were kids everywhere. “You come from Sligo, you have a big family. God knows I have about a thousand cousins. You should see it at Christmas. The place bursts at the seams.”

“You going home?”

“...No.” Mark said it quietly. Nicky glanced at him. “Thought about it, but...” He took a drag of his cigarette. “I'm busy and stuff, you know? First Christmas in Dublin, I've got classes to get ready for... It'll be nice. I'll make dinner or something, watch some movies.”

“Your family won't miss you?”

“Maybe. They'll understand.” He glanced back in through the door. Shane was sat in the middle of the room, people fussing around him, a small boy sitting on his lap. Nicky was reminded perversely of Tiny Tim in that stupid movie. God bless us, every one. “Stay for Christmas. Please.”

“Why?”

“Because...” Mark shook his head. “Please just stay. I don't want you spending Christmas alone.”

“I've done it every other year.”

“I haven't.” It was soft, slightly broken. “I can make food. Anything you like. We can put up a tree. Have stockings and that.” He stepped off the patio, down onto the grass. Nicky followed, feeling frost crunch beneath his feet. There was a ripple of laughter from inside. “I can't do it. Sit there and...” He shook his head. “Everyone knows everyone in Sligo. Everyone'll know what I did.”

“You didn't do anything.”

“Yeah.” Mark breathed. Nicky reached out, his fingers finding Mark's. “What was Christmas like at your house?”

“Good. Warm. It...” He bit his lip, trying to think back. “My mam used to make amazing mince pies, and me and my dad and my sister would put on little concerts. Singing Christmas carols and dancing and all sorts in our living room for our grandparents. Everybody used to bring a dessert. You'd be so full on pies and roast and everything, and you'd still have to have a bit more trifle, and aunts and uncles and things would bring you presents.” He felt his eyes mist up a little and wasn't sure why. The hand in his squeezed.

“Sounds nice.”

“It was.” He looked away.

“What did you do last Christmas?”

“I spent it sleeping in the toilets of a soup-kitchen, fucked off my head.” The hand tightened. “I had half a bowl of soup and threw it up in the gutter eight hours later when the comedown hit, then I got picked up for trying to sleep in a shopping centre carpark, and spent the night in a drunk tank. It was warm at least.”

“It can't be worth it.” Mark said quietly. Nicky sighed, looking up at a sky threatening snow.

“Nothing is.”

He finished his cigarette. When he turned back around he realised Shane was watching them through the window, eyes drifting over while he talked to a woman who looked exactly like him. Then he realised they were still holding hands.

“Mark?”

“Yeah.”

He looked over, at cheeks going bright pink in the cold, eyes that seemed to be permanently misty.

“Just for Christmas.”

Mark nodded, biting his lip.

 

*

 

The first time Nicky saw his parents fight was on Christmas Eve when he was eight. Oh, there'd been arguments before, petty squabbles between the two of them, a few prickly silences, but that Christmas it suddenly went mad. Nicky couldn't even say what it was about. Wanted to be able to remember that someone had been to blame, that he could be angry at one of them. He sat on the living room floor while his father slammed the study door and his mother started shouting, and his sister had looked up from her jigsaw puzzle, seen him staring in fright, and taken his hand.

They'd gone up to her bedroom where she'd put on a mix CD and turned it up to drown out the noise, then they'd had a small party up there, her getting him to dance when all he wanted to do was burst into tears. But after a while he'd given into it, found himself laughing when she did stupid impressions of Michael Jackson and MC Hammer, and he was singing along, both of them jumping on the spot to When Will I Be Famous.

He heard the door click open, looked up to see his parents standing there, his mother laughing while they danced in their pyjamas, his dad rolling his eyes and smiling. Nicky expected them to tell them off for the noise, but they joined in instead, putting on the radio and all sitting up in his sister's room, mucking about while his mam let his sister do her makeup and his dad played Lego with him on the floor, singing along to Christmas carols.

They stayed up until past midnight. When he went to bed he wondered if Santa would still come, if they'd broken the rules, even if he was pretty sure by then that Santa didn't exist. Still, when he woke there were presents piled under the tree and the mince pies were gone, a stub of carrot left from Rudolph.

“Nicky?”

He looked up. His sister was rubbing her eyes, pyjamas all twisted.

“Santa came.” He said quietly. She smiled.

“Yeah.” A hand slid into his. “Let's go back to bed, okay? We'll wait til mam and dad wake up.”

 

*

 

“Erm... hi.” Kian stood up. They were all sat around the living room, crammed in after Kian had turned off the music and asked everyone in. There were about forty or fifty people, all squashed in, some spilling over into the dining room and hall. Everyone had a drink. Shane didn't, was drinking a glass of soft drink. Nicky had heard him asking Kian quietly if he could have some of his pills yet, but Kian had asked if he could hang on a little longer, just ten minutes so he could do something, and Shane had smiled, shifted uncomfortably, and said yes. Okay. Though he was looking a little pale and drawn. Nicky knew all about that.

Nicky took a bite of the cupcake he was eating. There was a little girl on the floor who kept staring at him, maybe five years old, and he smiled awkwardly at her, feeling totally out of place. He hadn't had to deal with kids in a long time, had never been allowed near Bryan's. Mark's hand caught his elbow.

“You look a bit pale. You okay?”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded, swallowing, though all he really wanted to do was go sort himself out, which he felt awful for thinking when Shane was sitting in the middle of the room in a wheelchair, kids scattered through the room, everyone looking friendly and happy and oblivious. The ceiling looked too low. Why was the ceiling so fucking low? He'd done a line that morning, but it had been carefully rationed, obviously wasn't enough. His back fucking hurt.

“So, thanks for coming today...” Kian was saying something. Nicky tried to pay attention, but someone was chewing really loudly nearby. He swallowed hard, trying to focus.

Kian sank to one knee.

There was a ripple of drawn-in breath. He felt Mark's hand freeze on his arm. Shane covered his mouth with both hands, staring at a ring that had suddenly appeared. Then they were hugging, Shane leant awkwardly forward in the chair.

Nicky licked his lips. Jesus Christ, who was chewing behind him? It was fucking disgusting. There was a cheer. Mark stepped forward, his hand leaving Nicky's elbow.

“Erm.” Nicky breathed. Mark looked back.

“You alright?”

“Gonna be sick.” He admitted. Mark nodded, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the bathroom. He barely made it, was throwing up, hitting half the seat before he got far enough over the bowl. Crisps and cupcakes and bits of cherry. He heaved twice, thought he was done, then went again, feeling his chest wrack with it, a hand gently settle on his back. Empty, eyes stinging with tears while he kept retching over the toilet, hacking up spittle.

He thought he should have been used to it. Was used to it. But it felt worse, somehow. In a perfectly nice bathroom with spotless tiles and a cosy over the toilet paper. Throwing up behind a petrol station was fine, on dirty cement with suspicious stains up the wall. At least he blended into the environment. Here it felt...

“Sorry.” He managed. Mark stroked his back. “Fucking hell.” He coughed, spat. “Too much junk food. Haven't eaten like that in a while.” They both knew it was a lie.

“It's okay.” Mark stood, ran the tap, and came back with a glass of water. Nicky sipped it gratefully, then threw it up. Mark filled it again. “You need to go home?”

“No. I'm fine. Just...” He shook his head. “You go back out there. Congratulate your friends. I'm sorry...” He didn't look up, didn't want to see Mark's expression. “I'll clean up. Be out soon."

“If you're not well...”

“Just... go.” He didn't know why but suddenly he didn't want Mark to see him like this. Not for a second longer. The hand let go, touching gently to the back of his head when Mark stood up.

“If you need anything...” Nicky shook his head. Mark closed the door behind him.

He sighed, slumped over the toilet and looking at his own vomit. Flushed it. He wiped up the seat, flushed the paper, then leaned his head in his arms, trying not to breathe in the smell. This was bullshit. He didn't fucking belong here, in some nice couple's house while they celebrated together, planned out their whole lives in their beautiful home with their family around them and friends who loved them, putting out nice food for Nicky to throw up because he hadn't gotten a fix since that morning. It was wrong. Being in Mark's flat and not for a second being told to get clean, to get a job, to take some fucking responsibility for himself. He wanted to be grateful that nobody was judging him, but part of him hated it, like there was some great bill being tallied up somewhere, filled with things he'd never asked for and couldn't pay back.

He threw up again, flushed it, then sank to the tiles, his legs and back aching. Curled up there, wanting to cry but not able to find the energy, a sweaty chill running over his skin while he buried his face in his arms and tried to figure out whether he should just climb out the window. Just go. Back to where he was supposed to be.

He pulled himself to his feet, bent over the sink to wash his face. His mouth tasted terrible and he opened the cabinet to look for some mouthwash or deodorant or something, something to mask the smell so he didn't have to go out there with all those kids and all that happiness and be the one who smelled like vomit and sweat.

He found the mouthwash, twisted the lid off. Then paused.

Two boxes of pills, both with prescription stickers affixed to them. He picked one up, turning it over carefully to look at the active ingredients.

Huh.

He took three, then stuffed a blister sheet in his pocket, put the boxes carefully back. Took a swig of the mouthwash and put that back too. There was some air freshener next to the toilet, which he sprayed around, hoping it was enough.

There was a knock.

“Just a minute!”

“Okay.” When he opened the door Kian was stood there, a glass of water in his hand.

“Hi. Sorry. Just need to grab Shane's...”

“Course. I'm done.” He stepped aside, watching as Kian opened the cabinet, waiting for the moment of realisation, of suspicion. But he just popped one out, shoved the box back, and headed back for the living room. Nicky followed. “Congratulations, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Kian looked halfway between laughter and tears. Nicky smiled. Within a few seconds Shane was swallowing the tablet, Kian's fingers squeezing gently at his shoulder. “You okay?” Kian said quietly. Shane nodded.

“Perfect.” He smiled. “Love you.”

Nicky went to find Mark.

 

*

 

The pills weren't great, but they were something. He felt a little more level by the time they left. Mark had been looking more edgy all afternoon, hadn't been talking to anyone by the end of it. Nicky had watched him stand on the patio, lighting cigarette after cigarette, his cheeks red and hair damp from the icy rain that was starting to fall. It looked like he was punishing himself, almost, kept glancing inside to where Shane was looking deliriously happy, Kian was looking concerned but delighted. People kept hugging them.

Nicky stood next to him in the cold, an arm around his waist, head laid carefully on his shoulder. Mark kissed his hair. Nicky didn't know entirely what to do with that, but it felt nice enough, soft. Warmth up his side, even though Mark was shivering.

Mark's flat was chilly when they stepped back inside but Nicky turned the heat on, watched Mark head into the bathroom like he was drifting, a small black balloon without much direction, tugged on a broken string. He heard the shower running. Nicky sorted himself out while he had the living room to himself, snorting off the back of his hand and thinking it didn't look like nearly enough was left. Thinking he could probably do the whole lot right now.

When Mark came out it was in his pyjamas, a robe wrapped tight around him. Nicky sat next to him, cross-legged on the sofa while they both stared blankly at the TV. Fingers slipped into his. He squeezed.

“Get you anything?”

“No.” Nicky shook his head. “I'm fine.” He looked at Mark. “Sorry about today.”

“It's fine.” Mark swallowed. “Going to get an early night. Don't... feel well. You be okay on your own?”

“Usually am.” He shifted over a little. “I'll have a shower, go to bed.” Mark looked pale. He reached up to touch his cheek, felt the other boy turn into it a little. “If... it helps...” He sighed, not knowing what to say. “Thanks. For ehm...” He gestured around them, then looked down at the shirt he was wearing. “For the shirt. And that. I...” This was bloody pointless. He closed his mouth. Mark swallowed.

“It's cold tonight. Do you want an extra blanket?”

“I'm fine.” He stood. Mark kept staring at the TV, so Nicky bent down, kissed his hair. He didn't know exactly how to feel about this boy, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He heard a soft sob. “Thanks.” He said quietly. “I had a nice day.”

The shower was blasting hot, he made sure of it. Scrubbed until he was raw. When he got out the living room was empty, the bedroom door shut. He poked his head in, saw a shrinking lump under the blankets.

Without bothering to ask he crossed the room, slid into the bed. He felt Mark pull him in tightly, felt flannel rub against his naked skin, a head rest carefully in the crook of his neck. He kissed damp hair, felt a kiss touch his own shoulder, soft, almost experimental, like something might explode if Mark did it wrong.

He slithered down a little and before he could figure out a rational reason to stop he was kissing Mark gently, feeling lips part under his. Wasn't at all sure why, except this was what he usually ended up doing. Had to return the favour somehow and there wasn't much else he was useful for. Didn't expect at all the warmth that spilled into his stomach when he did, the sudden squeeze in his chest when he heard Mark made a noise of surprise.

“Come on.” Nicky murmured, letting his hands drift to a drawstring, feeling Mark's lower half jerk away, then arch into it. “You'll feel better.”

Mark tried to pull back, but Nicky had fingers in his hair, pulled him into another kiss. Then another. Felt Mark respond, hesitation on his tongue while Nicky reached in and pulled him out, squeezing gently, tugging. Hard in his hand and Mark pushing against him suddenly, making a low, broken whimper. Hands closing on the small of his back, twitching like they wanted to go lower.

“You don't have to.” Mark gasped. “You don't...”

“It's okay.” He closed his eyes, leant in again. This felt easy. Something he knew how to do. Mark was getting harder, hips moving. “I'll suck you if you want.” He suggested. “You can fuck me.”

“What... do you want?” Mark's voice was a little ragged. Nicky blinked, pulling back and looking at him, at flushed cheeks and tired eyes. A hand cupped his cheek.

“It... you can fuck me.” Nicky said again. “If you want.”

“But...” Mark pulled away. “No.” He swallowed, sitting up, his knee coming up to hide himself, hand awkwardly tucking it away. “You don't owe me...” He shook his head, hands coming up to rake through his own hair while Nicky watched, sitting up too, wondering what the hell was going on.

“I really don't mind.”

“You shouldn't have to...” He sighed. “Do you want to, though?”

“It's not a problem.”

A hand reached out. “No. I don't... want to. Not like this.” It squeezed his, then pulled away, going back to tug the blanket a little higher. He was still hard. Nicky wasn't, but he usually wasn't. He hadn't managed to maintain an erection more than once or twice in the last couple of years. It didn't matter, he wasn't really using it, and sex paled a bit in comparison to heroin.

“I...” He swallowed, feeling a sudden rush of rage and humiliation. Mark didn't want him? Fuck that. One thing he was fucking good at and Mark didn't want it. Why the fuck was he _here_? “Fine. Whatever.” He climbed out of bed, swearing when the sheets tangled around his legs.

“Nicky...”

“Just...” He slammed the bedroom door behind him, was pulling on his jeans in the bathroom when he heard the bedroom door open again.

“What are you doing?”

Nicky shook his head, not sure remotely how to explain it. How fucking small and angry he felt, how fucking pointless. Mark sitting there and not judging him for a fucking second, touching him, holding his fucking hand, behaving like it was all okay and Nicky wasn't a complete fuck up, and then turning around and rejecting him, throwing him aside. What was the _point?_

“Nicky.”

He pulled on his own shirt, grabbed his backpack from the cupboard in the hallway.

“Where do you think you're going? It's freezing.”

“Just... home. I don't know.”

“Home?” A hand brushed his shoulder. He yanked away. “What, to the park, or?”

“Wherever. I don't fucking know.” He swallowed hard, wanted to cry. Wasn't sure why. Mark was trying to block his way, getting in between him and the door. He pushed past, yanked it open, and was jogging down the stairs before Mark could stop him. The cold hit him like a wall when he opened the front door, blasting straight into his skin. He could hear Mark on the stairs.

“Nicky.”

“Fuck off.” He growled. A hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Come back upstairs. We can talk about...”

Nicky shook his head, shoving Mark away and stepping out into the night.

 


	11. Chapter 11

The first time Nicky tried to go clean he was twenty-two. He'd tried to do it before, of course, but never under his own steam. It had always been his parents, or the police, or someone stopping him from getting a fix while he'd screamed and fought and desperately, desperately tried to convince them that if he could just have one more. Just one more. Then he'd have a clear enough head and be able to deal with this thing head on. But not right now. Please. One more and...

The money hadn't been coming in, not lately, and he was crashing with Bryan again. He was about five seconds from being kicked out, knew it well enough, but Bryan didn't  _ get _ it. That Nicky badly wanted to hock his stereo but didn't want to use up the last lifeline he had. The last actual fucking friend. But shit, he needed the cash and things were thin, and he'd lost his fucking job again and was thinking about going back to selling his arse. It wasn't his favourite thing, but it certainly fell within his skill set.

Bryan didn't ask him to give it up, but the understanding was becoming clearer. Bryan had a kid on the way, and every time Kerry came over it was this disdainful look, like why the hell was Bryan fucking around with this burnt out piece of shit.

So one day, just to see if he could, he woke up in the morning and decided not to use.

The first day was unpleasant. By noon he was getting anxious. His eyes and nose wouldn't stop running. It wasn't awful, just felt like a bad cold, with a bit of chills and sweatiness. By the evening the hair on his arms kept standing on end and he was getting monster cramps, was curled up on Bryan's toilet, wanting to throw up but too busy holding his gut while everything came out the other end.

He didn't sleep, ended up in the corner of the bathroom propped against the wall because if he lay down, even for a moment, all his joints would seize, his back shrieking that this wasn't right, that he needed to stop doing whatever he was doing  _ right fucking now,  _ curled up in the foetal position and his face in the corner while he shivered on the tiles, wishing he hadn't flushed his stash in a sudden display of self-righteous resolve that morning because that shit had cost fucking money and...

Bryan put a blanket around his shoulders, then went to bed. Nicky stayed there, yawning over and over again even though he wasn't fucking tired, feeling his jaw hurt with every single one, He ran the bath and ended up laying underneath the warm water, screaming with his head under and his face in his hands so he didn't wake Bryan up. The water fucking itched for some reason. He scratched. And scratched. And fucking scratched until he got the cramps again and had to go to the toilet. Stayed there, feet wedged up on the seat and passing out, feeling like this was maybe the Bizarro version of the nod. In and out like a flickering TV signal until he realised it was still only one in the morning and it would be fucking hours before the sun came up.

Bryan woke at three to find him on the floor of the bathroom, got him back in the shower while he sobbed that it was too fucking cold and would Bryan please stop breathing  _ so fucking loudly Jesus Christ what the hell is wrong with you _ and Bryan had asked what the hell was wrong with  _ him _ and Nicky had told him that he could go fuck himself. Bryan threw a towel at his head, told him he was free to leave if he wanted. Nicky thought about killing himself. But he was still alive a minute later, and figured he could go a minute more.

The sun came up. He went for a walk around the block. Around and around. Three times. Four. Six. Nine. Thirteen. Counted them until it was three hours later and he was fucking freezing even though it was a hot day and his arsehole fucking hurt from all the shitting but he needed to go again and he fucking  _ itched _ and Bryan would you  _ please _ stop breathing so fucking loudly...

He turned around. Bryan wasn't there. He thought he heard his sister laugh. A hand touch his.

He sat in the bushes for almost an hour. It was ten in the morning when he went back home, shivering and still able to hear someone talking, though it was whispered and in another language and when he turned to look it was like half a shadow that disappeared before he could see.

Bryan propped him up on the sofa, got a joint into his hand and lit. Nicky didn't know where it had come from, but it took the edge off a little bit. He wanted to sleep. Wanted it so badly, but...

“Nicky.”

He couldn't reply, not with his teeth grinding together. A hand shook his shoulder gently.

“Nicky. Come on.”

 

*

 

He opened his eyes. Bryan. Crouched down in front of him. Nicky blinked. Sat in Bryan's backyard, snow starting to pile up around him, the fence to his back and his fingers like ice, wetshirt plastered to him, his hair frozen stiff.

“Bryan?”

“Nicky, what are you doing here? It's...” Bryan glanced back over his shoulder. There was a little face peering out through the door.

“Daddy?”

“Go inside, honey.” Bryan called out. “Daddy'll be there in a minute.” She disappeared. Nicky looked up.

“Hey.” He swallowed. Remembered finishing his stash, remembered...

“You're fucked up.”

“Yeah.” He coughed. “Hey... Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Bryan sighed. “You can't be here.” Nicky wanted to protest, to say something about how he could just borrow, or just crash, or just...

Bryan shook his head.

“You've got five minutes to get out or I'm calling the guard.”

“But...” Nicky reached out a hand. “Bry. We're friends. We're...”

“Are we?” Bryan raised an eyebrow. “I'm trying to get my fucking kids back, Nicky. Sort myself out. It's almost Christmas and you show up fucked off your head and sitting in the snow. That's not fucking friendship, mate. You can't...” He sighed. “Time to go.”

“Bry... I'll... please...”

“No.” Bryan stood up, and as Nicky watched he went back inside. Pulled the glass door shut. Nicky saw him a moment later, carrying Lilly across the kitchen. Scooped up Molly as well. Then he disappeared.

Nicky sat in the snow for a long time, until blue and red lights flickered across his face.

At least the police car was warm.

 

*

 

The snow was getting deeper, Nicky could just see it through the little window set in the corner of the holding cell. The window didn't open, was set with blocky chunks of frosted glass, but he could see white piling up around the blurred shape of the street outside, see the snow falling steadily, fluttering past the dark sky. It was early in the morning but the sun wouldn't be up for ages, not at this time of year.

He'd been here a while. There had been another guy in the cell across from him, just some idiot teenager who'd probably tried to be hard, had been crying when he'd come in, reeking of booze with a cut on his forehead. He'd been picked up by his parents not long ago, had slouched back out looking extremely sorry for himself, though he'd been casting nervous looks at Nicky. Nicky hadn't bothered to talk to him. There was no point.

He asked if he could leave yet, if charges were being pressed. By Bryan. Fucking  _ Bryan  _ of all people. Who couldn't walk past a race track without handing them his bank account details. Who the fuck was he to think he was better than Nicky? Really?

They searched him, had the station nurse come and look him over. They took away his painkillers, still stuffed in his pocket, though at least he wasn't holding anything else. He was starting to shiver, felt like his heart was beating out of his chest, just wanted it to be over soon.

They let him go after the standard six hours. No charges were being pressed, there was no reason to hold him. They asked if he wanted to call someone. He didn't know who to call. Mark, maybe, but he didn't know the guy's phone number. Then he remembered Mark had said to call the day before, when he'd been dropped off at the park. A number. He'd been given it. It was...

“Wait...” He went back to the desk. Too cold outside. Too fucking cold. Cold already. Couldn't. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't... “Can you call...” He dug the bit of paper out of the coin pocket in his jeans. They hadn't taken it. Hadn't. Fuck. Cold. “He'll come get me. Please.”

He sat on a hard bench while he waited. It was an hour later that a hand touched his shoulder.

“Nicky?”

He looked up, not able to reply through gritted teeth.

“Nicky.” Mark crouched down in front of him. “Shit, you're frozen. Here...” The coat came off, was wrapped around his shoulders. “You look terrible.”  
  
“Thanks.” He managed. “Sorry. Didn't know who else...”

Mark sighed, pulled him into a hug. Nicky clung back, feeling himself shake, feeling every nerve try to wriggle out through his pores.

“Come on.” Mark said quietly. “Let's get you home."

 

*

 

The mug was sloshing in his trembling hands. Mark took it away, put it down on the coffee table.

“Nicky.”

“Mm?” He looked up. “What?”

“I didn't say anything.” Mark sat down beside him. “Do you need to take something?”

“I... took all of it. Last night. Erm...” A sharp breath sucked in near his ear.

“All of it?”

“Yeah. Yes.” He swallowed hard. “I had pills. They took them. I didn't...” He covered his face with his hands, the light too fucking bright in his eyes. _“Fuck!”_ He shrieked it into his hands, felt Mark recoil. “Gotta go out.”

“It's...” Mark glanced over at the window. “You can't. There's a snowstorm coming in. If you hadn't called when you did I wouldn't have even made it over in time.” Nicky looked over too. It was white outside, darker than it should have been, a blinding heavy grey. He'd heard something at the station, a woman at the desk saying something about weather. “It's way too dangerous.”

“I don't care.” He stood, trying to grab his jacket. “I'll just... I'll...”

“What are you going to do?” Mark's hand pushed him back to the sofa. His arse hit it with a thump. “There's nobody out there. Half the roads are getting closed. There won't be anyone at the park. Who do you think...?”

“There'll... there's a guy. He'll sort me. Over in in in...” He fisted his hair in both hands, trying to free the thoughts that seemed trapped there. “It's not that far. I can...”

“Nicky.” Hands covered his, pried them out of his hair. “What if you don't get back? I can't drive you. You can't go walking in this. How are you going to pay for it, anyway?” A hand caught his chin, pulling him up, eyes catching his. “Shit.” Mark wiped sweat off Nicky's forehead with his sleeve. “How long since...?”

“Nine... nine hours?” He coughed. “Let me go. Don't want me here anyway. I can't...”

“Whoa...” Mark grabbed his wrists. Nicky realised he'd been pushing without meaning too, shoving uselessly at Mark's chest. “Okay. It's fine. I want you here. Just...”

“Why? You don't want to...” He shook his head, looking away. “Don't...” He sniffed, then suddenly he was sobbing. Arms wrapped carefully around him.

“Into bed.” Mark murmured. Nicky nodded. This was fucking ridiculous. He didn't even know why he was crying, except that everything suddenly felt so hard, a rush of emotion where he'd gotten used to things being numb and quiet. A wave crashing back in. He cried harder, curling his knees up to his chest when he felt a vicious cramp come on, then recede. He was going to need the toilet soon. Didn't want to let go of Mark.

He was carried to the bedroom, put down on the mattress and all his dirty clothes stripped off. Mark wrapped him in a robe, pulled the blankets up, then slid in behind him.

“Hurts.” Nicky whispered. It wasn't a big enough way to explain it, but he couldn't find the right words. Mark nodded, wrapping around him.

“I know.” He said softly. “I'll stay with you.”

 

*

 

“Please... stop touching me.” Nicky whispered. Mark pulled his hand away. It had been gently stroking Nicky's stomach for the last ten minutes or so, but everything was hurting and he couldn't stand it, couldn't explain that a soft palm felt like sandpaper, that Mark's breath was way too loud, brushing against his ear, that it was too fucking hot and too fucking cold and he couldn't stop sneezing and _fuck_.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing.” He closed his eyes, pulled his knees up a little higher. “I need... need to...” He sneezed again. “Fuck.”

Mark stood, came back with a box of tissues, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Nicky rolled over, his face next to a knee covered in stripy flannel. He closed his eyes again. A hand touched his hair.

The next few hours passed so slowly they seemed almost to stand still. He went to the toilet, stayed there for longer than should be possible, feeling like days were passing. Mark kept coming in to check in on him but there was nothing he could do except empty out the sick bucket and bring it back. Nicky hoped Mark had plenty of toilet paper because he'd already gone through most of a roll and it wasn't like Mark was going to the shops. The windows were almost caked in white now, and when he looked out it was piling up around lampposts and storefronts. It was eerily quiet, no cars on the road, no people. Just the sound of the shower running when Mark helped him in, the plug in to fill the bath.

He passed out, came to. When he opened his eyes Mark was sitting on the floor next to him with a laptop open and the water had stopped running. It was up to his waist. It wasn't so much a bath as a largish shower stall, but at least there was no chance of him sliding in and going under, his back wedged against the tiles and feet under the tap.

“What you doing?”

“Not much. Work.” Mark looked up. “How you feeling?"

Nicky shook his head, not able to explain. He blew his nose into his hands, rinsed them off in the water.

“Do you have anything? Sleeping pills or?”

“No. Sorry.” A hand reached out. Nicky took it. “I have some paracetamol. Cold and flu, maybe.” Nicky shook his head. No. The hand squeezed his. “You should eat something.”

“God, no.” He coughed, then yelped when his leg seized in a vicious cramp, doubling over. Tried to rub it, but god, jesus, sharp fire like fucking teeth right up his calf, knees to his chest and wanting to scream but not able to get the words out. “Ah...” He managed it before his teeth gritted tight, trapping a shriek inside.

It let go after what felt like hours, settled back into a dull, angry throb.

“Need to get out.” He gasped. Mark nodded, yanking the plug. A towel came around his shoulders as the water trickled away but he couldn't get out, ended up laying in the bottom of the stall, hair in a shrinking puddle of water, towel wrapped tight around his shoulders.

“Just... leave it.” Mark's hand snatched back. “Gotta stay here.”

“Why?”

“Just... have to.” White porcelain around him, blocking everything out. He closed his eyes.

“Okay.” Another towel covered his legs. He heard Mark sit back down, the laptop click back open. “Tell me if I can do anything.”

 

*

 

“Can't sleep.” Nicky sobbed. “Gonna die if I don't sleep.” He sucked in a deep breath, but his throat felt too tight. “Can't breathe.”

“Shh.” The blankets were pulled up higher. “You're not going to die.” Nicky shook his head. Mark didn't know. Didn't know. Nineteen hours in and it was getting dark and he couldn't shit any more because fuck he hadn't eaten and Mark had made him drink half a glass of iced tea but he'd thrown it up and his legs wouldn't stop _moving_ and he wanted to run forever but his chest was trying to break loose and smash out of his skin but it was crawling and...

“Gonna die.” He muttered. “Gonna die, gonna die.” He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't see anyway, not blurred with tears. “Let me die. I want to...”

“No, you don't.” Mark said firmly. “If you really think you will I'll call an ambulance.”

Ambulance. Hospital. Morphine. Yessssss... but they wouldn't. They'd know and detox and they'd... he'd... no. No no no. “No.” He muttered. “No. Please. Can't...” He shoved out of bed, ran for the door. Mark grabbed his wrist. “No.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out. Have to. Too... too small. I can't...”

“Stop.” Arms wrapped around his chest. “Why do you want to go outside?”

“To... it _hurts_.” He doubled over, felt Mark bend with him. Wrapped around him. It was too fucking _small_ in here, the ceiling pressing down, walls closing in. He needed to run. Needed to move his fucking legs. They wouldn't stop moving. And everything felt so fucking big. Memories he'd shoved out of the way looming over him like a wall. Needed to run.

“Okay.” Mark nodded. “We'll go outside.”

 

*

 

He was wearing about a thousand layers, still felt cold. He could see Mark's breath. The other boy was struggling, but he'd put on a scarf and come down too, shoved the door open despite the piling snow and stepped outside, holding out a hand for Nicky to come too. It was oddly quiet, the crunch of their steps the only real sound, late at night and every sensible person inside.

Mark took his hand.

“This is better?”

“No. Sort of. Maybe.” He looked up at a black sky, snowflakes tacking to his skin before melting. “You can go back in.”

“It's fine.” He swallowed. The hand tightened. “You slept out in this?” Nicky nodded. “How?”

“I didn't really notice it.” Wasn't now, honestly. He was already so cold. It was numbing, and at least he was fucking moving. “That's kind of the point. You don't feel anything.” He coughed. “Fuck.” He pulled the coat tighter. Walking. Just needed to keep walking. “I found places to sleep.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Like my skin wants to crawl away.” He blinked away tears. “It's too big.”

“What is?”

“Everything.” He bit his lip. “I don't have to remember when I'm fucked up. Don't have to feel...” He looked down at his feet, the snow crunching around his shoes. It made him want to scream, somehow, the sound. Like blank madness.

“Feel what?”

“Yeah.” He breathed. Mark's hand squeezed tighter. “You don't want to just fuck everything off, start again with a clean slate?” He coughed again, felt his stomach cramp. “Come on. You're a fucking mess, right? Otherwise you wouldn't be doing this shit with me. Tell me there's not something you want to forget. It does that. Like...” He kicked at the snow. “Like this. Cold and white and you can't see...”

“Snow melts.” Mark said quietly. “Everything's still there when it's gone.”

“If you do it right it doesn't have to.”

“Clean slate.” Mark snorted. “There's things I'd change but...” He shook his head. “You can't just run away.”

“So you'll be going home for Christmas then?”

He saw Mark frown, lips thin. Nicky nodded.

“Thought so.”

“It's...” Mark swallowed. “I did something awful.”

“You didn't do it on purpose.” Nicky sighed. “Seriously. I've done so many worse things. You were mucking around, there was an accident. Shane doesn't blame you.”

“Not... that. Yeah, but...” He sighed. “I've been in love with Kian since I was sixteen.” Nicky looked up, eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh.” He laughed. “Does he know?”

“He...” Mark swallowed. “Yeah. He knows. Mostly because I... I told him. But...” He had been pink in the icy air, but now he was going red. “I told him. A couple of months ago. How I... felt.” He looked down at his feet. “Shane was on a work trip for the weekend, so we thought we'd hang out. We had a couple of drinks and... I...”

“You kissed him.” Nicky interrupted. Mark nodded.

“I kissed him. He... kissed me back. Just for a minute. Then he pushed me away, asked what the fuck I thought I was doing and... so I told him. God, I feel like such a fucking idiot.” He covered his cheeks with his hands, but Nicky didn't miss the tremble in them. “I shouldn't have done it when I was drunk, just rambling on. He told me it didn't matter. That he was with Shane and it was unfair for me to bring this shit on him, that I should have fucking kept it to myself. That he hadn't kissed me back. But he had. I knew he...” Mark trailed off. Bit his lip.

“I told him I was being stupid and drunk, that I hadn't meant it. Then two days later Shane got hurt. I pushed him. He could have died, and for a second I... I wondered if maybe I'd meant to. If...”

“You didn't mean to.”

“No. I didn't. It doesn't change...” He swallowed. “I grew up in Sligo. We did. All three of us. I can't walk through my own house or I'll see us all hanging out, singing in my bedroom with Kian's guitar. Sitting in the living room doing homework. I can't walk through town. I can't see the school. I can't... do it.” He looked at Nicky. “You seemed nice and I thought I could show I was moving on, make things right with Kian. It was selfish. That's the problem. I'm always so fucking selfish.”

“You used me.”

“No. I didn't. I just...”

“It's alright. I'm used to it.” He looked at Mark. “What are you trying to prove here?”

“Nothing.” The hand left his.

They walked in silence for a long few minutes. He knew they should start heading back, but he couldn't manage it. The thought of walls around him, of not being able to move. The shadows were coming in. He hated them. Just outside of his vision, curling around the backs of his eyes when he turned to look. He could hear steps behind them, but when he looked back there was nobody there.

“You're pretty fucked up.”

“I know.” Nicky sighed. “You're not the first one to notice.”

“Yeah.” Mark paused. “I like you anyway.”

“Thanks.” Nicky snorted, laugh puffing against the inside of his scarf. “This is going to get worse before it gets better.” He didn't know when the snow was going to stop, but within a few days he'd be able to score again, be able to sort himself out. He'd heard you got out the other side within a week or so, and for the first time he found himself wondering if that was maybe a good thing. If he should try. A hand touched his cheek.

“Let's go back inside.”

Nicky nodded.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Another blanket?”

Nicky nodded. This seemed to work, at least a little. He felt ridiculous, like a bird building a nest, but it at least held him together, stopped him from shaking apart. Mark had pushed the dresser right up near the wall, let him squash himself into the gap. He had about six blankets, a sick bucket. Mark kept bringing him iced tea, made him eat half a banana. It came back up. He ate the other half. There was a pile of sweaty clothes in the laundry basket and he'd just pulled on a fresh set. Mark had dozed next to him on the bed for the last couple of hours, letting Nicky hold his hand while he slept..

The next blanket went on top, cocooning him in like a fortress. His legs were screaming. His back was worse. He buried his face in the pillow and shrieked until his throat was raw, gripping Mark's hand tighter.

It was almost dawn. The lamp was on beside him, casting long shadows along the floor. They kept moving, looked like people, clawed hands stretching out. He buried his face in the pillow again to block everything out, felt a hand ghost over the back of his neck.

“No.” He moaned it softly. The hand in his squeezed tighter.

When dawn broke the snow was piled so high he couldn't have gone out if he'd wanted to. Mark turned the TV on to the morning news. Stay inside. Dangerous conditions. Another storm cell moving in. Roads closed.

There was a report about how six homeless people had been found dead in the park. The authorities expected to find more and urged people to find a warm place to stay, that the shelters were overfull. To go to the hospitals if there was no other choice.

“This is crazy.” Mark commented. He was standing at the window, looking out. Nicky didn't know when he'd gotten up. “It never snows like this, not in Dublin. You should see this. It's beautiful.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Nicky?”

“Think...” He shook his head, feeling a flush of shame rush through him. “Think I've pissed myself.” He admitted. He could smell it too. Fuck. “Sorry.”

“Oh. God.” Mark covered his mouth. Nicky sobbed. “Okay. I'll run a bath.” He ran from the room, came back with a mop and bucket. Nicky crawled to the bathroom, practically fell in still wearing his clothes. Mark helped him strip, bundled everything up in a plastic bag with the soiled blankets and took it downstairs to the laundry with all the sweaty stuff. He just wanted to d...

“Nicky.” He looked up. Patrick was sitting on the edge of the bath. He stared, cringing away. “What are you doing?”

“Patrick.” He swallowed. “Hey. I'm...” He looked down at himself. “Look, about that thing in the toilets, I didn't...”

“Just...” Patrick sighed. “Stop.” He looked away, and as he did his face seemed to disappear. “It's always excuses, isn't it? I don't want to know.”

“If you'll just listen...”

“To what?” When Patrick looked back it was his mam. “Nicky, we've been over this. A hundred times. Stop lying and just tell me...” She covered her face. “You were so perfect, my little boy and..."

“Mam. You don't understand. It...” A hand fisted in his hair. “Please.” He swallowed. “Please no.” He flinched as something landed on the back of his head, trickled down his neck. “It just hurts. Hurts all the time.” He doubled up in pain. A punch in the kidneys. Cramped hard. “Just _listen_ to me.”

“Why?” His dad said. “You stole from your brother. You told me you were at a friend's place.”

“Stop going through my room.”

“Stop _lying_. Stop making _excuses._ ”

“Bryan...”

“I'm trying to get myself sorted out, Nico.” Blonde hair shook. “Fuck yourself up if you like, but stop ruining it for everyone else. You always give up. I have responsibilities. Do you even know what that's like? To care about someone other than yourself?”

“Bry... It's not like that. If you'd just let me...”

“I already did.” Bryan's face curved into a frown, his hair growing longer and longer. Over his eyes. Over his mouth. When he brushed it out of the way there was nothing underneath. Blackness. He heard Mark's voice.

“Sir, this is private property. You need to find somewhere else to sleep.”

“Sorry, officer.” He mumbled. “I didn't know.”

“Nicky?”

“Sorry.” He mumbled, felt his mouth fill with water. Felt himself choke, cough. He thought about staying under. Just staying until he ran out of air, until it all went away. His sister knocked on the door.

“Nicky! I need the bathroom!”

He came up gasping, shot out of the water. The door opened a second later.

Mark dragged him out, got him dressed and put him into bed. The floor of his nest was too wet with soapy water and only half the blankets were still okay. Mark curled up to his back, pulled a pillow to their fronts to close him in. Nicky closed his eyes, feeling like he was about to shake apart.

 

*

 

Mark was humming a song. Had been for a while, a hand slowly stroking up and down his thigh. Nicky kept his eyes closed, trying to focus on the feeling instead of how much pain he was in. It was nice, he supposed, drifting in and out to snatches of melody. Some he recognised, some he didn't. When he opened his eyes again the humming had stopped and Mark was asleep.

He stayed still, as still as he could, knowing if he started moving even a little he'd go into spasms. He was just trying to keep his breathing even, trying to hold himself together, but it was too quiet and the room was bathed in a flat white glow. There was a hand closed on his hip, the other holding the pillow in to his front.

Mark's laptop was sitting close by. He reached out to snag it, not really sure what he was doing. He wasn't great with them at the best of times, though he'd had a bit of a play on them here and there at internet cafes and at other people's houses, but it had been a long time.

He flipped it open. The desktop had a picture of Mark's family on it. Parents, two other boys that looked just like him. Mark looked a lot younger, pale with pink cheeks and terrible floppy hair. He found himself smiling.

“What you doing?”

“Sorry.” Nicky went to close the laptop. Mark stopped him.

“Did you want to use it?” Mark propped himself up on one elbow, peering over his shoulder. “You can if you want.” He clicked on a few things. A search engine popped up. His hand settled back on Nicky's hip. “There you go.”

“I wouldn't know what to look up.” Nicky shook his head. He shivered. Mark's hand tightened.

“How are you doing?”

“Feels...” He swallowed. “You know when it goes really still right before you hear the thunder?” Mark nodded. “Like that. Like it's waiting.”

“Do you want to eat something while you can?” Nicky shook his head. “Something to drink. You'll be dehydrated.” He let go, stood up. Nicky stared at the blank search engine while footsteps padded down the hall. Mark came back with a glass of water. Nicky sipped it. It tasted like sugar.

“How long's it been?”

Nicky glanced at the clock on the bottom of the screen.

“Thirty seven hours.” He took another sip. Was desperately parched, suddenly. He swallowed the whole thing in four great gulps. Mark went back to the kitchen to refill it. When he came back he sat down next to Nicky, tugging the laptop over. “What you doing?”

“I'm going to Google you.” Mark smiled. “Something to do, isn't it?” Nicky rolled his eyes, sitting up. It wasn't likely that there was going to be anything, and his name wasn't exactly unique. He leaned into Mark's shoulder, felt an arm come around him. “Full name?”

“Nicholas... Bernard... James... Adam... Byrne...” He said it slowly while Mark typed it in with one hand, watching the letters blink up onto the screen. He hit enter.

A bunch of stuff came up, none of which was him. Nicholas Adam, James Byrne. All sorts of crap.

“Looks like I don't exist.” Nicky shook his head, closed his eyes. The arm around his shoulder tightened. “Sounds about right.”

“Guess so.” Mark was still tapping. It was a maddening noise, clicking and clicking and clicking. He felt a warning shudder run through him, his legs bunch up. “Oh. Wait. Is this...?” Nicky opened his eyes.

“That's me.” Young. So young. Bright eyes and an awkward smile, masses of gingery-blonde hair. “I'm...” He reached out touch the screen. His sister was standing next to him. “I remember that. School pageant. I was... twelve.”

“School yearbook.” Mark commented. He was right, there was a letterhead across the top of the screen, said 'past students' underneath. “You were so cute.” He squeezed Nicky's waist. “You look like a troublemaker.”

“I was. Um.” He touched the screen again. “Fuck. That's Gillian. My sister.”

“She looks like you.”

“Yeah.” He touched the screen again. “Hey... can we look her up?”

 

*

 

It took them a while to find her, but they found a newspaper announcement. Marriage. She'd changed her last name. There was a picture of her in a white dress. Then a birth announcement. Kids. She had kids. Nicky found himself crying, Mark's arm around his shoulder. They found her MySpace page. Mark asked if he wanted to send her a message.

He said no. Closed the laptop when Mark went to click on the link.

“I can't.”

“Why not? I bet she misses you.”

“I doubt it.” He chewed his lip. He was shivering badly now, couldn't figure out why he wanted to start laughing hysterically.

He changed his clothes again, the old ones starting to soak with sweat, and Mark went to get the clean laundry, still hot from the dryer. He went to the bathroom again then climbed into the pile of fresh blankets, pulling them around him, building a little wall out of pillows. Mark lay down next to him and closed his eyes.

He didn't sleep. Within half an hour the cramps were back, shrieking through his legs, his back seizing hard while he shivered and twitched on the mattress, the blankets getting more and more tangled, voices itching at the back of his head and at his skin until he was scratching to get them off. He screamed into the pillow. And screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and scr...

 

*

 

“Drink.” Mark urged.

"No.” It came out dry and silent. A hand cupped his cheek.

“Just a little bit.”

“No.” A straw forced in between his lips. He didn't suck. Mark sighed.

“Nicky.”

“Can't.” He started to cry. A sudden heave of emotion. He was back beside the dresser, curled up in the corner with his face shoved into the wall. It felt like rats were running under his skin.

“Have to.”

“No.” Everything smelled like vomit. Everything. He hadn't thrown up in hours, didn't want to drink in case he did it again. Forty two hours. Forty two. Not even two days and it felt like years. “I want to die.”

“Are you going to?”

“I want to.” He sobbed. “Let me.”

“I'll call an ambulance, then.”

“No...” He put his hands over his ears. No. No people. Just wanted to be left alone. Just wanted it to all go _away_.

“Then you need to drink something or I'm going to have to.” Mark's voice was harsh. He'd been on the phone earlier, Nicky had heard him. Talking about him. To someone. Someone. Talking. Fuck. Fuck.

“I'll be sick.”

“Then you'll be sick.” Quiet in his ear. Kind. The straw pressed to his lips again. Hand stroking his arm while he collapsed back into Mark's chest. “I called my aunt. She said you need to keep your fluids up.”

Aunt. The nurse. Right.

He took a sip, just to get Mark off his back. A kiss brushed his hair. It felt...

“I just want to sleep.”

“I know.” Mark let go. Came back with a damp cloth. “When the snow clears I'll go to the pharmacy and get something to help you sleep.” Nicky nodded gratefully. “For now, how about some toast and honey. I know...” He put a hand up when Nicky started to protest. “I'll know you'll be sick, but it might help. Hot bath and something in your stomach. Do your joints still hurt?” Nicky nodded. Yes wasn't enough of a response.

It went grey for a bit. When he came back he was in the bath. His skin was on fire.

And he was...

“Oh, erm...” Mark looked away, blushing. “Sorry.”

“Sorry.” Nicky hitched up a knee. “Erm...” He looked back down. It felt weird. Not good, just... overly sensitive. Pointlessly so. His thigh brushed it and he shuddered, yelping. It hurt. Fuck. “That's... not happened in a while. Sorry.” He reached down, trying to adjust it, and almost screamed, eyes rolling back in his head as a roll of fire burst through him and he came in the bath, feet clawing at the porcelain. “Ow.” He sobbed. “Ow ow ow.” It was floating around him. “No.” Moved. He went again. Nothing came out. It felt like throwing up on an empty stomach, heaving and twitching and feeling his whole body recoil back from the shock of it but no release. Nothing. Just.

“Jesus, are you...”

“It won't... I...” He curled up tighter, trying not to scream. Felt everything seize. All of him on fire, every nerve overloaded as his body tried to deal with the lack of numbness. Like the hot, angry feeling of coming back into a hot room after an ice-cold bath, past tingling and into a stabbing prickle, blood rushing in like crushed glass.

“Stop.” Hands framed his face. “Nicky. Look at me.”

He did. Stared. Locked on for as long as he could until another roll of acid fire ran the length of his body.

“I'm calling Triple 9.”

“No.” He grabbed Mark's wrists, held his hands there. Saw frightened eyes lock with his. “No. Just... just get my clothes. I'll go. I'll...” He knew as he was saying it that he couldn't, that he could barely walk. “Water. Get me water. And... whatever you have. Cold and flu. Aspirin. Anything. I'll...”

Mark stared at him a long time.

Then he got up and went to the cabinet.

 

*

 

“Any twos?”

“Go fish.” Nicky reached out to grab a card. Another four. Excellent. He paired them off, then looked up, waiting for Mark's turn. “Any kings?

“Yeah.” He handed it over. It was getting late. The snow was still coming in hard. Mark said the door was half covered when he went down to put another load of laundry on and Nicky could believe that. He'd taken four night-time cold and flu tablets. They did a bit for the runny nose, and at least had made him just drowsy enough to doze. He still hadn't slept. It was almost nine o'clock. Almost forty-eight hours.

“Nicky?” This was distracting at least, even if he had to get up every five seconds to walk around. They'd tried to play something more complicated, but he couldn't focus. The TV was on, the weather report announcing that businesses would be shut down while they waited for the bad conditions to move on. “What are you going to do when the snow stops?”

“I don't know.” He admitted.

“It'd be a shame you going through all this and then...” Mark looked away, blushing.

“And then get fucked up again?”

“Yeah.”

Nicky shrugged. “What else am I going to do?” Though he had been thinking it himself. All this, all this horror and pain and terror and what... he was going to go back to living by how desperately he could push away the withdrawal? Running a race with himself, and knowing one of him had to lose?

“Maybe you could get into a group or something.”

“Tried it. Any nines?”

“No.” Mark was shooting furtive glances at him. “You could have died this winter, you know that?” Nicky nodded. “Really.”

“I know.”

“So... what if you just stayed clean? Got a job? You could call your sister.”

“Thanks dad.” Mark flushed pink. “I'm sorry.” Nicky sighed. “I do appreciate you letting me stay here. Or... making me stay here. I don't know.” He reached out a hand, curled it into Mark's. A thumb brushed the back of his knuckles. “I tend to... wear out my welcome.”

“Is it the shitting, the pissing yourself, the throwing up, or the cumming in the bathtub?” Nicky felt like he'd been slapped, but when he opened his mouth to argue there was a teasing smile on Mark's mouth.

“Fuck you.” He snorted. Mark laughed.

“Hey, remember when I used to fancy you?”

“You don't any more?” Nicky raised an eyebrow. “Thanks a lot.”

“You scrub up alright.” Mark smiled. “And I've always had a thing for pasty, sweaty, half-starved guys that smell like puke. Absolutely my type.” The thumb ran over his knuckles again. “My last boyfriend was so much more pathetic than you.”

“Really?”

“No, just trying to make you feel better.”

“Good job.”

“Do you feel better?”

“A little bit. For now.” He squeezed Mark's hand, then let go. “You had many boyfriends?”

“A couple.” Mark hitched a shoulder. “Sort of. None of them have stayed over quite as much as you.”

“I'm not your boyfriend.”

“I know.” Mark chuckled. “No, I think with the Kian thing I maybe didn't want to get too serious. Just in case...” He sighed. “That's fucking pathetic. They're engaged now.” Blue eyes looked away, shiny with tears. Nicky knelt up, moving a little closer. He pulled Mark into a hug.

“Stop acting like a tit.” He said. Heard Mark laugh wetly. “You want to hear what my mam always said?”

“What did your mam always say?”

“Don't cross the ocean for people who wouldn't jump a puddle for you.” Nicky recited triumphantly. Mark snorted.

“She said that a lot?”

“Yeah. Well, that and 'where the hell have you been?' and 'stop making excuses'.” He felt his face fall. Mark noticed. A kiss brushed his cheek. “I think maybe she was talking about me without meaning to.” He admitted. “Maybe I could have tried. But the puddle was just so...” He shook his head. The cards were forgotten, scattered under his knees. “You want to know the last thing she said to me?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” Nicky swallowed. “I don't remember.” He pulled away, started scooping up the mess of cards. A hand landed on his shoulder.

“Nicky?”

“Yeah?”

Lips touched lightly to his. Just for a second. He stared.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing.” Fingers drifted up his cheek. “How about something to eat?”

Nicky nodded, feeling a low swirl of warmth settle in the bowl of his stomach.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Three and a half days. Nicky was delirious, writhing on the bed while Mark brought him things. Cold. Warmth. Wet. Dry. It was all just blots of sensation and madness, burying his face in the pillow and screaming for hours and hours and hours until his throat was raw and he was hoping Mark's neighbours hadn't heard. Hearing voices and seeing people walking around the room that couldn't possibly be there. Tony walked up the wall, humming Pretty Fly (For A White Guy), then disappeared into the ceiling. The curtains trickled down the wall, across the floor, making long white stripes that shrunk down until they were three lines on a piece of dirty tinfoil while a box of plastic Shrek toys stared at him.

He hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep. Wakefulness went on for years, stretched out to the horizon, a long road marching lines into a sick purple sunset. He closed his eyes and when he opened them he was in a tunnel, but when he climbed to the end it was blocked by snow and his fingers turned black from clawing through it, dropped off and lay uselessly at the bottom of the tree he was suddenly trying to climb. Ash picked them up, walking around and around the trunk until he looked up and snarled, his face upside down and eyes black.

Water was trickled down his throat. He almost choked on it. Mark made another phone call. Nicky thought it might be for an ambulance, but nobody came. Instead he was put into the bath again. There were snakes in the water. His eyes felt like they were bleeding. He just wanted to _sleep_.

 

*

 

The first time Nicky kissed a boy he was sixteen. It was odd to think of it. By that point he'd already been fucked, been used in more ways that he wanted to remember, but that night had been warm. He'd been to an over-18s concert he'd snuck out to see, and he'd started talking to a guy there. He'd bought Nicky a drink and they ended up in a field after the gig with a bunch of other people, lit by a bonfire and snuggled up in the back of a flatbed under a blanket, the stars above him and a joint in his hand.

The guy has held his hand under the blanket, said something really pointless about the constellations. There'd been a car radio playing, a few girls singing an Ace of Base song at the tops of their lungs while people laughed around them in the darkness.

He passed the joint, watched the shadows of the flames flicker over his legs.

“Nicky?”

The voice sounded funny. He found himself giggling. He always got a little giggly when he was high.

“Yeah.” He looked over. Kyle. His name was Kyle.

“Can I...”

The kiss was slow, tentative, the barest brush. Tasted like pot and toasted marshmallows. There was no tongue, just a light press until Nicky could feel his own breath puffing against soft lips, getting faster and harder as a hand rested gently on his hip and he tried to figure out whether he was warm from the bonfire or if it was something else.

The second kiss was deeper. He wrapped arms around strong shoulders, turned on his side to arch into it, feeling them slot together. Fall into each other. Sinking down into it until a tongue was sliding against his, stroking slowly while hands stroked up his side and...

They made out in the back of the truck for a long time. He fell asleep on Kyle's chest, woke up to the dying bonfire flickering feebly in the first sputters of sunlight. Kyle was gone. The girl who owned the truck gave him a lift home.

He fell asleep again in the passenger seat, cheek leaned against the glass, and only woke up when they were in front of his house.

His mother was waiting on his bed when he snuck in through the window.

 

*

 

He woke up coughing, arched hard off the bed and felt every muscle scream, dry lips cracking as they twisted into an anguished snarl. A hand landed on his chest to carefully guide him back down.

“What happened?”

“You fell asleep. Or passed out. Not sure.” Mark looked like he'd been asleep too, his eyes red and not quite open. “Lay down.”

“How long?”

Mark glanced at his watch. “Two hours.” Two? Just two? God. It was going on forever, would be fucking boring if it didn't hurt so fucking much. His dreams had stretched on for days, darkness and shrieking. He sat up, leaning forward a little until the pressure in the back of his head abated. A hand stroked his back. “Can I get you anything?”

Nicky shook his head. All the hair was standing up on his arms and legs. He ran a hand down his forearm, watching it prickle against his palm. “I'm a hedgehog.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Look.” He held his arm out. Mark snorted, finger stroking experimentally over tiny hairs.

“Well, you've got a burrow and everything.” Mark pointed at the mound of blankets. “Halfway there.”

“I always wanted to be a hedgehog when I grew up.”

“Goals are important.” Mark said seriously, then smiled. “What did you actually want to be when you grew up?”

“A hedgehog or a junkie. My guidance counsellor said I didn't have the qualifications to be a hedgehog. I didn't take the right classes.” He smirked, heard Mark chuckle. An arm wrapped around his waist, the blankets tugged around them like a cocoon. He laid his head in a strong chest, breathing in the soft, clean, slightly sweaty smell of the man beneath him. “I wanted to play football.”

“You liked football?”

“I _lived_ football.” Nicky explained. “I could have told you everything. Every game, ever player, every point. My dad took me to games when I was kid.”

“I think there's a game on today. Did you want to watch?”

Nicky nodded, feeling suddenly shy. Fingers shifted just under his ribs. Not stroking, but almost.

“Who's playing?”

“Wouldn't have a clue.” Mark snorted. “Why did you stop?”

“They... found out that I was...” A swell of emotion bubbled up in his gut. “The guys that...”

“Oh.” A hand settled on his knee. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” He swallowed. “It's fine. It was a long time ago.” He buried his face in Mark's chest, not able to look up, not wanting to see the pity there. It was far too late for that. “What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to be a badger.” Mark deadpanned. Nicky laughed, nuzzling into a shirt draped over warm flesh. “The sensible part of me says teaching. I love teaching. But the mad part of me always wanted to be like... not a famous singer, but to...” He snorted. “This sounds stupid, but I always felt right listening to dad's old records, singing along. I wanted to write proper songs like Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin and that. I would have been happy singing in a shitty bar to three people if I could make a living from it.”

“My dad used to sing.” Nicky looked up. “He had a pub band and stuff, ran a karaoke gig on the side. I used to help sometimes.”

“See that's cool. I'd never have the guts.” Fingers drifted over Nicky's cheek, eyes softening when they looked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just...” A fingertip skated under his eye. “You have nice eyes.”

“Thanks. They've not changed.”

“They have. You look...” The hand left him. “You look like you've woken up.”

“I feel like I'm in a nightmare.”

“I know.” Mark tugged him up a little. “I'm sorry. Just for a second it was like you were actually here. Instead of wherever the hell you usually are. It always looks like you're looking up from underwater.”

“Oh.” Nicky averted his eyes, feeling self-conscious. He curled up a little tighter. Usually he felt numb. He liked it like that. Now he felt far too awake, too aware of everything. It was all sensation, all at once. Every nerve overstimulated. He kept getting hard for no reason, had come a few more times without meaning to. It was awful. Was this how people felt all the time? He didn't know how they could fucking stand it.

“Do you want something to eat?”

He really did.

 

*

 

It was beautiful.

They were sat on the balcony, Nicky smoking a cigarette. It was fucking fantastic, taking slow pulls and feeling it swell in his lungs, expanding out until he felt so full he wanted to burst. The ground practically sparkled. It wasn't a great view, mostly filled with a main road and a bunch of dirty apartment buildings, but it didn't seem to matter. The road had been ploughed, there were cars here and there going past, but otherwise it was quiet.

It was ten days until Christmas.

“Should be able to go out soon.” Mark commented. He was right. The sun was back out, runnels of snowmelt trickling down the gutters. Everything else was a cape of white, banked up around trees and cars. He could hear the scrape of shovels as people cleared footpaths and driveways. “I might go get some groceries. Do you want to come?”

“Yeah.” He did. He'd been okay for a little while, had sat with Mark and watched a football game. It had been amazing. Arsenal v Blackburn Rovers, 1-0. He hadn't quite had the energy to go mad, scream his head off like he wanted to, but Mark made them sandwiches and Nicky hung on every word, trying to learn every detail he'd missed over the last couple of years. By the time it was done he was bouncing on the sofa, shouting profanity at the TV while Mark laughed and brought him another cup of coffee, cheering along when Arsenal scored.

Last night had been bad, though. He hadn't slept. Had ended up crying for hours, throwing up every now and then, his stomach cramping horribly. He didn't know how to explain it to Mark, what exactly was wrong, but it felt like in a nightmare when things were terribly wrong and you just _knew_ it, a creeping sense of intense evil. When something totally normal could be the most frightening thing in the world.

He'd crashed that morning just as the sun had come up. Managed an hour or so of fitful sleep. He'd never felt so fucking _tired_ , wanted that glorious feeling of warm nod that came about half an hour into a hit, where it was slow, drifting doze.

“Mark?” Mark looked over, a mug of coffee stopping his reply. “If I...” He swallowed. “If I stayed clean...” He sighed, looking away. No. That was fucking stupid. “Doesn't matter.”

Mark swallowed, put the mug down. A hand touched his shoulder.

“What's up?”

“Nothing.” He stubbed out his cigarette, went inside. It was warm in here. He went into the bathroom and closed the door, sat down on the toilet, staring at blank white tiles. He buried his head in his hands, trying to get his thoughts in order.

Staying clean. He'd never tried it before. Never wanted to. Wasn't sure if he wanted to now. Why he did, but...

It was nice here. Warm and clean and indoors. Being able to have an actual conversation with someone without having to hear why he was a fuckup or being asked to do a favour. Knowing where he was sleeping, that the bed was just over there, and the food was just here. Wanting to pay someone back because they'd been nice and he wanted to contribute, not because he needed to settle a debt. Wanting to be able to give Mark money for groceries so they could come back here and make something good for lunch. He wanted...

The last few days had been hell. Fire and brimstone was nothing compared to that. He'd been too scared to go through it before, didn't see the point. But now he had, and... and going back felt even more terrifying, no matter how much he wanted it. He felt like if he opened his eyes and there was a line on the bathroom sink he'd be snorting it before he could even blink. To take it away. Take it all away and...

And live in the dark and the cold for the rest of his life, looking for the next one.

But Mark...

This was a favour. Some sort of bullshit attempt to assuage the pathetic guilt Mark lugged around like a brick. It was stupid. Some ridiculous thing he'd built up in his head as real. As his fault. Nicky couldn't stand it, that mopey fucking face as if Mark was punishing himself, as if everything was about him, excuses and reasons and no fucking _action_. And it was all Nicky could do to stop telling him to harden the fuck up. Because Mark didn't know what real pain was. Nobody did. Didn't know being trapped inside your own shrieking skull and wanting to carve a door, step out and into the void.

Nicky was a fucking distraction.

Mark was...

Kind.

Sweet.

Warm and accepting and not for a second asking Nicky to be something else. Watching him shit and puke and flop around on the bed, coming all over himself and rambling on about pointless, nightmarish shit. Wrapping around him in the night and...

When he came out Mark was sitting on the sofa. There was a fresh cup of coffee steaming on the table.

“Mark?”

“Hey.” Mark turned to look at him, fingers clasped around his own mug. “You okay?”

“Yeah. No.” He managed a pained smile. A hand reached out.

“You want a hug?”

Nicky nodded, stepping over to the sofa.

“Yes please.”

 

*

 

The supermarket was busy, the shelves half bare. Everybody seemed to have gone mad, grabbing everything they could, as though they were in the middle of some childhood game and they wanted to get as much possible before the snow turned back around and caught them moving. Nicky was watching a woman scoop a ridiculous amount of grapes into a plastic shopping bag.

“People are fucking stupid.” He commented. Mark laughed, rolling his eyes.

“I know. It's only been a few days.” A guy walked past with a screaming toddler in one arm, a huge bag of cookies in the other. “If I give you the list can you do a run around? I think I'm gonna be stuck in the butcher queue for a while.”

Nicky nodded, heading off in the other direction with the cart, fumbling the list open with the hand not pushing it. He was halfway down the cereal aisle when he noticed he was all by himself.

He stood still for a long minute, only moved when he realised he was blocking other trolleys. He pulled to the side, staring down at the list, at marching rows of responsibility and expectation. Fluorescent lights and the smell of disinfectant and the sound of children crying and parents scolding and the tiger on the Frosties looked like he wanted to eat him right up...

“Nicky.”

He looked up.

“Hey. Sorry. I forgot to...” Mark paused. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Nicky swallowed back panic, not sure why he wanted to burst into tears. One rolled down his cheek. “Um.” A hand closed on his shoulder. “Sorry, what did you forget?”

“I was just going to ask you to get free-range eggs if you have the choice...” Mark's voice petered out. “Jesus, you're white. What happened?”

“Nothing. I don't...” People kept going past. Too many people. “Free range.”

“Yeah.” Mark was shrugging off his coat. It was around Nicky's shoulders a second later. “Let's go. You're not up to this.”

“No. I... I am.” The car ride had been okay. Staring out, watching things go past. “I just...” He covered his eyes, felt arms wrap carefully around him. Too noisy, too bright, too much, all the time, he couldn't. “Fuck. Sorry. I'll be okay.” He took a deep breath. “This is pathetic. Go. I'll get the groceries.”

“I'll stay with you.”

“No.” Nicky opened his eyes, stepped back. “No. I've got this. You go, find me when you're done.” He propped the list up in the basket so he could see it, put both hands on the handle of the trolley. “Okay. What kind of cereal do you want?”

“You pick.” Mark smiled, and before he dashed away he kissed Nicky's cheek. The tiniest peck. Nicky touched it, watching him round the shelves and disappear.

 

*

 

Mark caught up with him in the toiletries aisle while Nick was staring between all the brands of toilet paper and trying to make a decision. He'd been rather well acquainted with toilet paper over the last week and he was honestly just looking for the softest one he could find. He thought he'd done okay, otherwise, had managed to find most of the things on the list and just needed to go through frozen foods for the last few items. He looked up when Mark dropped a few wrapped parcels from the butcher's counter in the trolley.

“How'd you go?”

“Not bad.” Nicky pursed his lips. “Do I want quilted, three-ply, or extra-soft?”

Mark laughed, grabbing a large packet from the shelf and dumping it in the trolley. Then he grabbed the list and began to check things.

“Nice one.” He handed it back. “Is there anything you want?” Nicky shook his head. No. He couldn't impose. Not any more. “What about for Christmas lunch? I was just going to do turkey and potatoes and stuff, but if there's anything you want...?”

“No.” He hesitated, glanced down into the trolley. “Mince pies?”

“Sure.” Mark nodded. Nicky was all ready to hand control of the trolley back to him, but he breezed past, grabbed a bottle of shampoo, then rounded the corner. Nicky followed. When he caught up Mark was rummaging in one of the fridges. “These ones alright?” He held them up. Nicky nodded.

“Yeah. Please.” They went in the trolley. “I'll need to sit down in a bit.” He said quietly. He was getting achy. Nothing severe, just intensely tired.

“You okay?”

“Just need to sleep.” He rubbed his eyes. “Think...” He yawned. “Think It's catching up with me.”

“Tell me about it.” Mark snorted. His eyes did look a bit red. Nicky felt a rush of guilt. Mark wouldn't have slept much either, and not once had he complained. “How about a nap when we get home? Get this stuff put away and crash out for a few hours. Then I'll make dinner.”

Nicky nodded. He looked down into the trolley, not able to make eyecontact. Then he had an idea.

“Can... can I make dinner instead?”

Mark looked a bit surprised, but he nodded after a moment, smiled.

“If you like. What do you need?”

“Do you mind if we go back to the fishmonger?”

“...no.” Mark sounded hesitant, but he was starting to smile. “What are you going to make?”

 

*

 

“Maybe I should check the oven, or...”

“Shoo.” Nicky whacked his hand with the wooden spoon, got a startled laugh. “I'm cooking. Let me fuck it up on my own.”

“I didn't say you were going to fuck it up...” Mark protested, though Nicky could feel him sidling around as he worked on the sauce. “I just thought...”

“I've got this.” Nicky promised. Admittedly he was a bit rusty, but he could do this with his eyes shut. This, and a coconut apple crumble. He didn't remember much from school, but this had been his end of year exam and he'd made it so many times for practice it was embedded in there. “If you smell smoke you can stop me, but until then...” He swatted the hand that was reaching out. “Knock it off.”

“What is it?”

“Steamed plaice rolls.” He was about to whack Mark again when a hand touched his hip, but then it settled, the other hand landing carefully on his shoulder. “Did it for home ec. It's about the only thing I can make.”

“It smells good.” The hands tightened, and he smiled when he felt a kiss nudge the back of his head. He wasn't sure what this was, with Mark, but it felt nice. Comforting, like touching was inevitable. “I'm sure it'll be fantastic.” The hands went to let go, but he reached up with the one not holding the spoon and caught Mark's, holding it to his shoulder. It stayed where it was. He let go, going back to the saucepan. Another kiss brushed his nape.

Dinner didn't take too much longer. He plated everything up, tipped the sauce over the top, and handed a plate to Mark. He'd been buzzing around while Nicky had been cooking, and when he looked around he realised the coffee table had been set, a cloth draped over the top and a knife, fork, and glass on either end. He sank down cross-legged, grinning when Mark did the same.

“Bit fancy.”

“Yeah, figured it was an occasion.” Mark picked up his glass, blushing slightly. Nicky did the same. “Did you want to do a toast?”

“It's water.”

“I know. Do it anyway.”

“Okay...” Nicky chewed his lip, looking at the food in front of them. He was starving. For the first time in a long time. Not because he was empty, but because it smelled amazing and his mouth was watering. “To erm...” He looked down at the meal. “Can I say something?” Mark shrugged, nodded. “Nobody's ever... done things for me. Just because...” He stopped, couldn't find the words. “I know you think things suck, and I know you're running some sort of guilt show and that's your excuse for doing this, but...” He could see Mark going a bit pink. “You're really nice. The last few days have been absolute hell, and I've wanted to die and I don't think... you give yourself enough credit. And I'm sorry for messing up your Christmas and your flat and...” He swallowed, looked down at the steaming plate. “So yeah. Thanks. I want to make it up to you.”

“Nicky...” A hand caught his. He stared at it, not able to look up at Mark. “You don't have to.”

“I do, though.” Nick argued, gulping back sudden tears. He wasn't out the other side of the withdrawal, not by a long shot, but for once it felt like he could see the edge, even if it was miles away. “I'm not... I'm a selfish fucking arsehole and all I do is fuck things up and make excuses and...” He shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

He wasn't hungry any more. Was about to get up and go into the bedroom, pretend to go to sleep to get away from the look he was sure was plastered onto Mark's face. He was surprised, then, when Mark leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss broke, his mouth moving clumsily, not sure what to do with it. A hand cupped his cheek.

“Oh.” He said quietly, peered up at Mark from under lowered lashes. “Ehm.”

He leaned in to kiss Mark back.

 

*

 

Nicky arched hard. Mark's fingers felt fucking amazing, drawing circles in the small of his back, the other clutching his arse while Nicky raked fingers over broad shoulders, opening his mouth wider to draw him in. He'd never meant it to go this far. They'd separated after that first kiss, eaten dinner, Mark making pleased noises and complimenting him on a great meal, the two of them laughing awkwardly over little things. Then Mark had cleared away the plates, turned on the television, and they'd sat quietly, Mark's arm around his shoulder until Nicky had nervously turned and kissed him. Just gently. Then there had been another. And another. Until Nicky didn't know who was initiating them, just knew he couldn't stop if he tried.

“God.” He breathed, hips grinding down. He was straddling Mark's lap, knees planted firmly on the sofa. Mark was hard. Bloody hard, grinding back up to meet him, sending shivers down his spine. It had been too long since he'd felt like this. Felt someone else's touch with his whole body. Actually wanted it. He tilted his head, tightened his grip. Mark groaned, yanked him down harder.

“Want you.” Mark whispered. Nicky closed his eyes, buried his face in a long neck. “Please.”

“Fuck.” Nicky gasped. “You're crazy.”

“Yeah. Probably.” There was another moan as they rubbed together. “Jesus, Nicky...” Fingers closed on the back of his neck, the other still clamped to his arse. “What do you want?”

“Want...” He pushed down again, heard a strangled cry. He felt on fire, everything throbbing in a pair of jeans that weren't even his. “You feel _amazing_.” He gasped. Mark whimpered. “You can fuck me.”

“I don't want to.” His lips were caught again. Nicky wasn't sure how to reply to that, whether to be offended. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” Nicky admitted. No. He didn't want that. Not after the last few day's torture, not when it only made him think of shitty backseats and toilet stalls and the stabbing in his ribs and nobody fucking _caring_. Not caring himself. He cared about Mark, which was fucking stupid. They barely knew each other, but... “What are we doing, then?”

“What do you like?” Fingers skirted around, down his jaw, up his cheek. Nicky shook his head, not remotely sure how to answer that question. The only times he could remember liking sex he'd been too fucked up to remember what had happened. Wasn't even sure if it was the sex he'd enjoyed or if he'd just tolerated it as an added extra. As a favour to keep himself warm and fed and high.

“I...” He looked down. Fuck, Mark was hard. “Do you want me to blow you or something?”

“Jesus, deja vu.” Mark chuckled, though it sounded bitter. “We don't have to do anything. Seriously. We can just do the dishes, watch TV and go to bed.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. “You're hard, though.”

“It'll go away.” A kiss brushed his cheek. “This is probably a mistake, anyway.” The hand left his arse. Nicky was sad it was gone.

“A mistake?”

“Yeah.” Mark nodded. “Taking advantage or something.”

“Oh. Right.” Nicky nodded, feeling his stomach sink. “Sorry. I'm trying not to... to impose, or...” He climbed off, swallowed when he saw how Mark was tenting his jeans. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For taking advantage?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “You're not taking advantage.” His face screwed up, looked confused. Nicky was confused too. “I am.”

“How?”

“Because... I shouldn't. You and sex are obviously complicated and I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything or...”

“I'm... _you're_ taking advantage?” Nicky blinked, not able to wrap his head around it. “I am. I'm living in your house and... and fucking up your sleep and making you deal with my shit. I'm taking advantage.”

“No, you're...” Mark sighed, sounding frustrated, the laughed and ran a hand over his face. “Fucking hell, we're ridiculous.”

“Are we?”

“Definitely.” He reached out a hand. Nicky took it, let himself be tugged back to the sofa. “Let's not do this right now.” Fingers brushed hair away from his ear. “It was a bad idea.”

“Oh.” Nicky felt his cheeks redden. “Okay. Sorry.”

“You're stunning.” Mark murmured. Nicky looked up in surprise. “But that's not why you're here. Stay as long as you need.”

“I'll be gone after Christmas.”

“As long as you need.” Mark repeated. “You're not taking advantage.”

Nicky didn't try to reply.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The first time Nicky saw his family after he left home it was at Christmas. He'd been gone five months by then, had been couch-surfing and actually not having too bad a time of it. He wouldn't start selling himself for another month or so, not until just after new years, but he thought maybe things would be okay. He had friends, sort of. He had somewhere to live, sort of. And he was doing little jobs here and there for cash in pocket. He was thinking maybe he was getting back on track. He was high a lot of the time, but he was trying to stick to pot and a little bit of ex every now and then for a good night out.

All in all, everything was going okay.

He was hanging around on Grafton street five days before Christmas when he heard a familiar laugh, had an odd sense of deja vu. And there they were. Right across the street. His sister play-shoving his brother, the two of them giggling while his parents walked along behind them holding hands.

They looked like the perfect family. Beanies and coats and scarves, arms loaded with bags. His sister's hair was longer. His brother looked like he'd had a growth spurt, was almost up to her shoulder. His dad leaned in to kiss his mam on the cheek.

He watched until they walked into the department store, stood outside for a long time. When they came back out an hour later it was with more bags. He watched them walk back down the street.

When they disappeared he went back to Bryan's place, took a handful of painkillers, and drank until he stopped crying.

 

*

 

He liked laying in bed with Mark. Three days after their strange trip to the supermarket, the even stranger dinner and aborted makeout session, and things seemed to be settling into something that could almost be called normal. For normal people, anyway. For Nicky it was decidedly abnormal, pottering around the flat, occasionally popping out for something. He was still weak, felt scattered and tired, but oddly sobriety wasn't as bad as he'd expected.

It was early. They'd stopped bothering to sleep separately. It wasn't like Nicky had any propriety left and Mark didn't seem to mind, so they'd just kept doing it, sometimes snuggled together, sometimes facing in opposite directions. There was no point mentioning that it was a bit weird. They both knew it was a bit weird.

“You want to get up?"

“Not really.” Mark yawned, stretched. Nicky gave him a little grin. He couldn't help it. With clarity he'd started to realise that Mark was just slightly fucking adorable. “You want to do anything today?”

Nicky shook his head. No. “Stay in bed?”

“Not again.” Mark laughed. “Let's go for a drive or something. It's nice outside.”

It was. From this angle the window was full of a clear blue sky, so total it almost looked painted onto the glass. A hand slid into Nicky's. He squeezed it back.

Mark's phone rang.

“Argh...” It was a put upon sigh. The hand left his, Mark rolling over to snag his mobile off the bedside drawers. He pressed 'accept' but before he did Nicky caught a glimpse of a smiling, red-cheeked woman with platinum blonde hair. “Hey, mam.”

Nicky rolled his eyes, rolled over. He ended up snuggled into Mark's chest, fingers drawing idle circles through the hair on a broad chest. Mark was lovely, like a human teddy bear. Nicky's stark opposite, compared to ribs he could count and jutting hipbones, though if Mark kept feeding him it wouldn't last long. The last few days he'd been ravenous, had felt full for the first time in years and then just as hungry again. And fucking hell, Mark could cook.

He could just hear Mark's mother's voice. Not the words, but a gentle tinny murmur while Mark hummed responses. Fingers drifted carefully through his hair and he found himself smiling.

“I know, mam.” He head Mark sigh. “Just... not this year. I...” She was talking again. Nicky smirked. It looked like nagging mams were universal. “I know. I'll miss you too, but... I will. Yeah. I'll call you on Christmas Eve.” He nodded even though she couldn't see him. “How's everyone?”

It was a long call, talking about different things, and Nicky let himself nod to the sound of it, eyes closed and dozing to the rise and fall of Mark's chest. He heard Shane's name mentioned once or twice, as well as a bunch of names he didn't know. Mark's fingers kept stroking his hair.

It was about ten minutes in that he realised he needed to pee. He went to move, wriggled when Mark's hand clamped around his waist, tugging him back in playfully. He started giggling, heard Mark huff a laugh.

“I need the toilet.” He growled, scowling through his laughter. Mark rolled his eyes and let go.

“Oh... just... nobody.” He heard Mark say. “No. The TV's on.” Nicky paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Mark was flushing a little, a nervous smile flitting over his mouth. “Mam, if I had a boyfriend I'd tell you. Yeah.” He caught Nicky looking and dropped a wink.

Nicky nodded and headed for the bathroom, not sure why there was an aching swirl of disappointment clenching in his gut.

 

*

 

Nicky looked up at the ceiling of the car, hands folded behind his head and his eyes half closed. They'd been driving a while, buildings and streets flashing by, but he'd gotten a little overwhelmed, had to tilt his seat back to block out the endless stream of information. Mark had asked if he wanted to go back. Nicky said no.

“You don't want to sit up?” Mark asked while they were stopped at the lights. Nicky could see a faint circle of red reflected in the windshield. “That has to be boring.”

“It's fine.” It was nice, actually, feeling the engine hum underneath him, watching the concentration on Mark's face while he watched the road. The radio was on, and every now and then Mark would hum along, eyes scanning through the glass. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere, really.” Mark reached out to turn the radio down a little. The red circle in the glass disappeared, a green one appearing. The car lurched forward. “We're sort of near Donaghmede. Do you want to head for the beach? Get some lunch?”

“Bit cold for the beach.”

“I didn't say we were going swimming.” Mark chuckled. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. It was very sweet. “Hey, do you want to see something?”

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”

“Ha.” His eyes crinkled again. A hand reached out, swatting him gently on the shoulder. “No. There's a house around here for sale. Wait...” He pursed his lips, glancing behind them while he swung into the next lane. Nicky watched his face as they turned a corner. A few minutes later they were pulling up. Mark yanked the handbrake, turned off the ignition.

Nicky pulled the seat back up and peered out.

It was a smallish house, white with blue trim and a blue front door. It looked like something out of a Christmas card. Two stories tall, pointed eaves over the windows, Christmas lights strung through the trees out the front. The snow had melted but there were still patches of white frost on the lawn.

“It's pretty, right?”

“It's nice.” Nicky found himself smiling, glanced over to see Mark nervously smiling too. “This is the house you want?”

“Yeah. Well... obviously not that one. Can't afford it yet. But something like that, yeah. Somewhere I can have a dog, maybe. I'm not allowed one in the flat. We always had dogs growing up.”

“I never had a dog.” Nicky rolled down the window. The air was cold, icy, but it was refreshing. Prickling on his skin and clearing his head. “My brother was allergic.”

“Did you want one?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I asked and they said I could have one when I was old enough to take care of it. Then Adam came along and suddenly I wasn't allowed.”

“That's a shame.”

“Maybe.” He swallowed. “It was always him first, though. I couldn't have a dog because of him. My dad kicked me out because of him. Honestly, I think when he came along they were happier, because at least they had a proper son, not a screwup. That way it didn't matter so much when I left.”

He expected a response. You can't think that. It wasn't his fault.

Instead a hand touched his shoulder.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine.” It came out more gruffly than he meant. “It was a long time ago.” He swallowed back his anger, realising he was making this all about him when they were sat in front of a perfectly nice house that obviously meant something to Mark. “How many dogs would you have?”

“I don't know. Probably a few.” The hand squeezed his shoulder, then let go. “A big one, a little one, and a bunch in between. We had Irish Setters growing up, but I've always liked the idea of a pug or something.”

“I always liked labradors.” His turned back to look at Mark, flinching when something caught his eye. “Wait, where are we?”

“Baldoyle.” Nicky swallowed, feeling a sudden rush of panic. Seagrange Park. He could see the sign from here. There'd been some development here in the last few years, obviously. He hadn't recognised it right away, but... “What's wrong?”

“I...” He turned, looked behind them. “My school was just over there. It...” He was opening the door before he could register that he was doing it, climbing out into the cold air. There was a click as Mark's door opened too.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He turned on the spot. God, it was like some hideous deja vu, or some horrible withdrawal fever dream where he could smell the grass and hear birds fucking singing and... “Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn't... You're from here?” A hand fell to his shoulder. “Nicky. Hey.” Nicky realised there were tears running down his cheeks. “Get back in the car. I'll take you home.”

“No...” He took a few steps down the footpath. He could smell the ocean. Fuck. The bus route should just be over there. He hadn't seen it when they'd come in, hadn't been looking, but... “My house is over there.” He said quietly. “Four streets over and on the end. It's got a red door.” He looked at Mark, who was biting his lip anxiously. “I helped my dad paint it when I was nine.”

He didn't realise he was shaking until Mark took off his own coat to put around Nicky's shoulders.

“Do you want to go see?” He asked quietly. Nicky nodded.

 

*

 

It still had a red door. Nicky couldn't stop staring out it, his whole vision filling with red until he couldn't see anything else, parked across the street and staring out across Mark through the driver's side window. Mark asked if he wanted to get out of the car. He shook his head, feeling a hard need he'd been trying to ignore throb in the back of his skull.

There were Christmas lights up. They'd always done them when he was young, all five of them. Adam tangling up the cords more than he was helping, his sister redressing the tree about thirty times until it looked perfect.

“Do you want to switch seats?”

“No.” He breathed. A hand fell to his knee. “Maybe they don't even live here still.”

“Do you want me to find out?”

Nicky shook his head.

“Do you want me to shut up?”

“Yes please.” He felt a smile touch his mouth, however small. Mark nodded. Nicky stared a little longer, the hand on his knee still squeezing gently. “Can I come sit with you?” There was a slight nod and he unbuckled his seatbelt, climbed over the gearshift and into Mark's lap, sat sideways. His head almost touched the ceiling so he leaned over, resting his had in a strong shoulder. A hand stroked his back.

“Tell me about home.” Mark murmured.

“I wouldn't know what to say.” He felt tears spring to his eyes. “Tell me about yours.”

“Okay.” Mark kissed his cheek, holding him closer. “I grew up outside Sligo, this little area called Calry. Tiny school, a church, lots of sheep. I was a total farmer kid. Running around paddocks with the cows, mucking around in the woods. It was nice growing up. Like a nursery rhyme or something.”

“Sounds perfect.” Nicky felt another round of tears start, struggled to hold them back.

“Not really.” Mark shrugged. “I mean, it was fine, yeah. My parents were grand and I love my family, but school was horrible. I got picked on a lot. I had friends and that, and I did stuff outside school, but I... maybe I cared too much. When people called me names and that. It'd totally break my heart if someone said I was fat or shit or something. Or... or a fairy.” He swallowed. “You know, you grow through it, but I was never good at not caring. I liked doing lots of things, like singing and acting and that but I... I dropped out of all of them. Couldn't do it anymore, not when I was getting picked on for it.”

“Big fucking softie.” Nicky pulled back a little, saw eyes that had a hint of remembered hurt in them.

“I remember once I got my clothes nicked while I was in the showers after sport. They threw them in the mud and replaced them with a dress. A proper flowery Nana one. Said it was just my style. I didn't...” He looked away, cheeks red.

“Fuckers.”

“Yeah.” Mark breathed. “I put on the muddy ones and went home. I got in trouble for skiving. The next day someone had shoved the dress in my locker with a handful of tampons, so when I opened it...” He blinked away tears.

Nicky kissed him.

There was a grunt of surprise, a soft moan, then Mark was kissing him back. Hungrily, suddenly, while Nicky yanked him closer, a hand cradling the back of his head. Fingers scrabbled hard at his spine, his own dropping down to force under Mark's sweater, soft skin jerking under his touch, muscles contracting. Mark moaned again. Nicky shifted, twisting to face him and swinging a leg over, straddling him in the driver's seat with the steering wheel forced to his back. The horn went off, making them both jump.

“Um.” Mark said.

Nicky kissed him again. Hard. Deep.

“Fuck.” Mark muttered just before his lips claimed Nicky's again. Then the seat jerked back, Mark's hand yanking on the handle, and Mark was reclined beneath him, Nicky stumbling forward, lips still joined while they grabbed at each other, fingers going for buttons, for zips. There was a whimper as Nicky found a nipple, scraped it with his fingernails. He breathed Mark in. Wanted to swallow him down and hold him there, settled in his stomach so he could feel like this all the time. Like someone got it. Soft skin and warmth and kindness and a smile that made him want to fucking _do_ things. For someone else. For Mark. Because...

“Oh.” His eyes fluttered closed when they ground together. Hard. He was fucking hard. Properly hard in a way he hadn't been in years. Not since Patrick. Since Kyle. Since Ash, even. A swirling headrush of need and want and desperation while Mark fumbled at his belt, both of them suddenly forgetting that it was broad daylight on a suburban street and _fuck_ it. Fuck everything. “Mark...” He panted. Got a moan in response.

“Want you.” Mark gasped. Nicky shuddered, felt hands claw his zip open. Out. Hard. Hand sliding up his length while he throbbed and it felt so fucking _good_ , like sensation he'd lost a long time ago, release that might actually happen for once instead of that impotent fucking frustration he always drowned out and he'd _forgotten_. “Need you.”

“God yes.” Hard kisses. “Can't do it here.” Red door. Big lawn. Christmas lights. No no no no no. “Back to...”

“Yes...” A kiss devoured him. “Condoms. Lube. Home. Now. Fuck...” He was yanked in again. There was a breathless sob. “God, I'm hard.” Their foreheads ground together. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

“I'm a mess.”

“Me too.” Mark chuckled. Fuck, his hand was still _moving_. “You feel so good.” The wanting rasp against his ear made him shudder. “Get off before I...”

Nicky did, climbing reluctantly back into his own seat. It hurt. Fuck. Sensitivity and pressure when he tried to zip himself up around the erection he was sporting, bit his lip to stop himself making embarrassing noises. Mark was red and panting in the driver's seat, hand fumbling at the lever to pull the chair back up.

It popped up with a sudden bouncing click.

They stared at each other.

“Home.” Mark announced.

 

*

 

Nicky was twenty-five the first time...

The car ride was in almost silence. It was like a house of cards built on a rocking boat, a bubble in the wind, like the tiniest bump might shake it apart. Heavy and desperate, Nicky's hand gripping the edge of his seat while Mark's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. He heard Mark swallow. Felt his own mouth go dry.

They walked up the stairs, Nicky's flagging erection coming back with an ease he couldn't remember experiencing in years. Maybe ever, not when every fucking time had been for something. For a favour, for payment, for protection, for a place to stay. Something built on lies and expectations. He'd been fucked a thousand times. Maybe more. Because it was his fucking place. The best he could hope for.

He'd never...

They were kissing before they made it to the bed. Fingers in his hair and his own hand scrabbling at clothes while they thumped backwards onto the mattress. Mark kissed like a demon. Soft, encompassing lips hiding a steel power that made Nicky want to wrap legs around his waist and beg. Hands stroking down his neck, cradling him in, Nicky fallen on top and a large, protective shape wrapped beneath him, Mark's fingers finding the collar of his shirt and tugging. Then it was off. Mark's shirt too a fumbling minute later.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.” Nicky growled, heard a laughing moan. “You can fuck me.”

“No.” Hands fumbled at his belt. “Fuck me. God, I want you to fuck me.” Nicky blinked in surprise. “Need it.”

“You...” He bit his lip. “I've never...”

All movement froze. Mark stared up it him, chest moving hard.

“Really? But you...”

Nicky shook his head. “I just take...” He swallowed. “I...”

“Oh.” Fingers smoothed to the side of his face. “Do you like it?”

Nicky shrugged. “Maybe. No. It...” He felt himself go pink, felt suddenly, horribly inexperienced. Which was fucking stupid. He'd fucked in hundreds of places with more people he could count. “I just do it. I got used to it.” He saw a smile quirk at the corner of Mark's mouth. “What?”

“Nothing.” The smile stayed, though. “It's just a bit sweet. I feel like I'm taking your virginity now or something.”

“I lost that when I was fifteen.”

“I was seventeen.” Mark laughed. “If it's easier I can fuck you. Do you want me to?”

Nicky hesitated. Getting fucked. Toilets and train stations and head down and blocking it all out, over and over again so he could just get enough to forget...

“No.” He said quietly. He looked down at Mark, at kind, accommodating blue eyes, lips a little swollen. A thumb traced the curve of his chin. “I don't want to hurt you. I never liked...” A kiss nudged away his protests.

“You won't hurt me.” The promise brushed his mouth. “I trust you.” Nicky swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Go slow. It'll be fine. I want to touch you.” It was a soft, yearning breath. “Nicky...”

Nicky nodded, throat too tight to speak.

 

*

 

It happened slow. Clothes off. Touching slowly. He'd expected Mark to bend over, put his head down, but instead they just kissed for a long time, his hands drifting over soft flesh, eyes following. Mark was beautiful to look at, gasping and responsive where Nicky caressed him, Mark letting him touch until he found the spots that made Mark shiver and let out soft cries. He made gorgeous sounds, gasping them against Nicky's mouth, his hands touching Nicky back, curling around his arse, smoothing up his spine. He felt on fire, tingling and shattered whenever Mark pressed the lightest kisses down his throat, every one a damp, soft tattoo on his skin.

His eyes squeezed shut when Mark licked into the hollow of his hips, laving over every pore. His legs bunched up in mindless pleasure, thighs flopping out. Fingers slid up his hips, thumbs brushing sensitive nerves.

The tongue slid up his balls. He cried out, fingers tangling automatically in dark hair while Mark lapped up his cock and sank down.

He gulped. Too much. Fuck. It was like coming in the bath all over again, mindless sensitivity while cheeks hollowed around him. Mark was moaning, eyes falling closed. He looked oddly at peace, something Nicky had never felt while he was doing the same thing. He felt bad, like he should rip himself from Mark's mouth, stop him being used like this, but oh, Mark was hard, grinding against his shin while Nicky's hands tightened, hips thrusting up.

“Gonna come.” He warned, heard a growl. Felt it hum around him. “Ah...”

Mark let go. Nicky nearly cried, gasping breathlessly into the kiss Mark devoured him with. Rubbing together, Mark hard and perfect.

Mark's hand reached out, fumbling at the drawer. Condoms. One landed on his chest. Then a bottle of lube. Nicky counted his blessings when he got lube. Usually it was just spitslick and bearing down, but this was nice stuff in a bottle, Mark squirting it over his fingers and rubbing them together to warm them. Nicky stared up, chest heaving.

Mark reached back to push a finger in. Nicky moaned. Couldn't help it. Sat up when Mark's eyes fluttered shut on a hitching breath and kissed him hard.

“You don't have to.” He whispered. Mark shook his head.

“Want to. Feels...” Blue eyes opened again, almost black. “Oh...” There was a soft moan. “Do this... do this on my own when I...” He gulped. “Oh fuck...” Hips jerked.

“You like it?” Nicky asked, caught up in wonder by the expression on Mark's face. It crumpled quickly, Mark's wrist twisting. “Is that what you like?”

“Yes.” It was a hiss. “Help. God, please...” He was going pink, looked almost embarrassed to be asking for it. It was bloody beautiful.

“Here?” He let his fingers find Mark's. Pressed one in alongside the two Mark was using. There was a soft cry. He reached in, found the spot Mark was stroking, picked up the rhythm. “Is that...?”

“Oh.” Mark's fingers drew out. Nicky pushed another in to replace it while arms wrapped around his neck. Clinging. Mark cried out again. “There.” A tongue swept over red lips. “There, oh please please please...” His face buried in Nicky's shoulder, hips working back, snapping forward. “S'been... fuck, it's been too long...”

“How long?”

“Ah... ahhh....” Fingers clawed at his back. It was beautiful. Not the almost angry thrusts he usually got, the pathetic whimpers and quiet, sweaty grunts over his shoulder. Pure desperation. Lips mouthed at his ear, sucking like it was the only way Mark could hold himself to the ground. “Two... two years. I haven't...”

“You haven't been laid in two _years_?”

“Have. Casual... things. One night. Not...” Mark was rapidly losing the ability to speak. “God, stop _talking_ and just _fuck_ me.”

Nicky laughed, shoved his fingers deeper, adding a third. Mark let out a wail, curling in on himself, gripping tighter. Nicky pulled his fingers out, reached for the condom. Mark did it for him. Ripping it open and rolling it gently on. He sucked in a gasp at the pressure, not realising how much Mark's reactions had affected him. Mark was drizzling lube a moment later, warming it and slicking him.

“You sure?”

“Are you?” Nicky countered. Slippery fingers cupped his face, the other hand reaching back.

Oh.

Oh.

God.

“Nicky.” Mark's eyes squeezed shut. Tight. Tight. Fuck. Tight. He heard Mark sob. Hot. Tight. Fucking _squeezing_. A burning, aching ripple while Mark spread and. And. Oh. Tight. “Nicky.” His voice sounded thick, Nicky's own name coming like a prayer. “Nicky...” Fingers clawed at his shoulders, Mark sliding unstoppably down until he settled, still pushing down like Nicky had more to give, bottoming out while Nicky tried to stop himself coming on the spot.

Too much.

He couldn't...

“Mark.” He collapsed back, felt his head hit the pillow. Felt Mark's knees shift, somehow taking more in. Impossible. One hand finding the bedrail, the other finding Mark's hip, pushing up while Mark leant back a little, riding carefully, eyes closed and shifting, mouth parted over low gasps.

“So good.” Bottom lip dropping, red and shining with spit. “So good. Nicky...” He jerked, everything fluttering. “Don't stop.”

“I'm not bloody doing anything.” Nicky managed, heard a broken laugh.

“You are. God, you don't...” Hips twisted. “Yes...” Everything jerking, everything tightening. Mark's hand coming down to touch himself. “Yes...”

Nicky sat up again, felt Mark's head land on his shoulder. He was still moving, rocking, tugging Nicky towards the edge in a way that was almost hypnotic. Nicky took over the stroke, both Mark's arms wrapping around his shoulders again while the younger boy took himself on Nicky's lap, legs straddling his hips. It was beautiful. Mouthing at his neck, hands clawing his spine. Nicky groaned, clutching tight to him with the hand not pumping the throbbing length slipping through his fingers.

“You feel amazing.” He breathed. There was a whimper. “I'm...” He buried his face in Mark's neck, felt him twitch as he neared the edge, felt his rocking get more jagged. “Oh, Jesus Mark...”

Mark kissed him through it, while both of them cried out and held each other. While Mark spilled between them, Nicky pushed as deep inside him as he could and never wanting to come out. A tongue in his mouth while he sobbed out his release, the last coherent shred of his brain thinking it had been a long time since he'd felt this good.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Post-coital bliss wasn't something Nicky had much experience in, but he could certainly get used to it. They lay together for a long time, giggling and panting. It was glorious, sweaty and sticky, Mark letting out little groans every now and then, stretching. There were claw marks up Mark's back. Nicky had a love-bite on his neck.

They showered together. There was no point doing it separately, not after all that, but it was sort of chaste. A couple of kisses, his hand briefly grabbing Mark's arse, but otherwise it was just the two of them waiting patiently while they took turns shampooing, soaping and rinsing. Afterwards they sat on the sofa, Nicky's feet kicked into Mark's lap and the TV on. A hand slid into his.

Mark gave him a smile. Nicky smiled back.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Mark snorted. “How are you?”

“Good.” He grinned. He couldn't help it. “That was nice.”

“Good.” Fingers squeezed his. “Want to go get a Christmas tree later?”

“Do you get a tree every time you have sex?”

“Yeah, it's tradition. It only comes but once a year.” Mark teased.

“Or two years.”

“Or two.” He got an embarrassed grimace. “Now I feel like a twat. Shouldn't have told you that.”

“It's fine.” He kicked Mark's knee lightly. “How did that happen?”

“Just...” Mark sighed. “I don't know. I like sex. I do. But... I've never been one for going all the way unless it's someone I really...” He trailed off, blushed awkwardly. “And you know, there's the Kian thing.”

“Of course.” He didn't know why, but the mention of Kian made him deflate a little. “So you're just like... filling in time until you can have him, or...?”

“I'm not going to have Kian.” Mark grimaced. “I'm not. And I can't keep living my life like I will. Shane's...” He let out a slow, trembling breath, looking away. “Shane's the right one for him. I need to move on.”

“So I'm a rebound fuck?” Mark raised an eyebrow.

“I didn't have sex with you because of Kian.”

“Why did you then?”

“Because I _like_ you, you fuckhead. Why is everything so black and white with you?” A throw cushion flew through the air, smacking him in the face. “It wasn't a pity fuck or something. Jesus.” Nicky had to laugh. Mark looked thoroughly insulted. It was a bit gorgeous. “You kissed me first, anyway.”

“I remember it differently.”

“That's convenient.” Mark chuckled. “Here I am, telling you a depressing fucking story about highschool and you're on me like a rash. Talk about a pity fuck.”

“It's just nice to hear someone else's depressing stories for once. I'm usually the only one with depressing stories.”

“I can guarantee you you're not.” Mark raised an eyebrow. “Just because people aren't complaining all the time it doesn't mean they don't have shit going on. We all have shit.”

“I'm complaining now?”

“I didn't say...” Mark grimaced, then realised Nicky was teasing. He scowled. “Fuck off.”

“Nope. I'm here until Christmas. You said.” Mark rolled his eyes at the smug smirk. “Still want to get a tree?”

“In a bit.” Mark shifted. “Bit sore.”

“Oh, precious.” He leaned over, kissing Mark's cheek sympathetically. “Wait'll you've taken four in an hour in the Pearse Street toilets with spit and a generic brand condom.” Mark flinched. “What?”

“Just...” Blue eyes met his. “Is that what you're going to go back to? After Christmas?” Nicky shrugged. He hadn't thought about it overmuch, had just sort of taken it as an inevitability. Now he was finding he didn't really want to. What was the point? As sober as he felt now he could feel the itch in the back of his skull, knew if he was out there again, cold and alone and needing something to fill up his days...

He looked away. A hand caught his.

“You're worth more than that.”

“Thanks.” Nicky said quietly. “It doesn't change things.”

“I know.” There was careful silence. He could see Mark's mind ticking, see him trying to make some sort of decision, to form some sort of offer in his head. Some reason for Nicky to stay. But Mark would have to go back to work. Was he really going to leave Nicky here alone? Unsupervised? Really? Mark had a life. And Nicky...

“Don't say anything.” Nicky said quietly, just to break the silence. “You don't owe me anything.”

“I'll help any way that I...”

Nicky nodded, letting go of his hand.

 

*

 

“This one?”

“Bit big.” Mark looked up at the enormous spruce. The lot was getting a barer. Six days until Christmas and all that seemed to be left were shitty small ones and trees so ridiculously huge you'd need to knock out the ceiling to fit them. “This one.”

“Bit grey.” Nicky pulled a face.

“It's my bloody tree!”

“And your tree is a bit grey.” Nicky shot back, got a chuckle and a nudge. “Stop having terrible taste.”

“I'll do my best.” Mark said meaningfully, looking him up and down. They'd had sex again that morning, slow and gasping, Mark's legs over his shoulders and hands gripping the bedrail while Nicky had taken him, his hips finding a rhythm to the beat of Mark's glassy-eyed moans. A gloved hand took his. “This one then.”

“That one.” Nicky smiled. It was nice. About his height. Mark called the lot owner over and about ten minutes later they were strapping it to the roof of the car. It was a bit awkward getting up the stairs at the other end but they managed it, Mark pushing and Nicky pulling until they could prop it up in the corner of the flat. It took up half the living room, smug and resplendent in a red pot.

“I'll get the decorations.” Mark went to the hall cupboard, came back quickly with a dusty cardboard box. The sudden thrill at the sight of tinsel when it was opened was unexpected. Excited at the thought of Christmas. Who would have thought?

He was just pulling out a silver star when there was a knock at the door.

Mark went to get it. It was his flat after all. It opened just as Nicky was pulling bubblewrap off a small wooden sleigh, painted clumsily by a childish hand and with a red M on the side. He smiled, turning it over to look at it.

“Hi. Is... sorry, does Nicky Byrne live here?” It was a soft voice. Female. He felt his heart stop, looked around. Mark was glancing at him. He shook his head.

“No.” Mark said. “Sorry, you must have the wrong address.” He was a terrible liar. It came out stilted and false, though she didn't challenge it. “Maybe try upstairs?”

“Oh. That's okay.” There was a pause, the sound of rummaging. “Well... can I show you a picture, maybe? It's just... he's my brother. He's been missing for a while and... and I thought I saw him yesterday. I... I thought he came back to this building. I followed...” There was a sniff. “Please?”

“Sure. Yeah.” Mark said it way too fast, eyes flicking over again. Nicky stood, though his heart stayed on the floor. “Sorry, haven't seen him.” He winced. “How long's he been missing?”

“Seven years.” Gillian said. She'd always had a quiet voice, soft and sweet, though she could come out swinging in an argument when she had to. “We looked, but... he had some problems. You know. Um... so if you see him, or?”

“I'll let you know.” Mark promised. “Do you have a phone number?”

“Yeah.” She started reciting it. Mark was nodding, keying it into his phone. “Take a picture of the photo, maybe? Just so...” Mark did. “Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

“I wish there was more I could do.” Mark said pointedly. Nicky flinched. “I really do.”

He closed the door. Nicky heard feet thudding up the stairs. Mark looked at him.

“Your sister's looking for you.” Nicky nodded mutely. Out front of the house the day before. It had to be. Fuck. “You sure you don't want to go say hi?” Nicky shook his head. “Because she seemed pretty upset.”

“Dad told me to get out.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” Mark rolled his eyes. “They're family. They're _supposed_ to say shit they don't mean. You had a shit fucking run, but Jesus Christ, Nicky. There's your fucking opening back to the real world and you don't even want to take it? Are you really that determined to be miserable? _Really?_ ”

Nicky recoiled. When he bounced back it was with a blinding rage.

“You don't _know_.” He shouted back. “You don't know for a fucking _second_ what I've been through!”

“You shat yourself.” Mark growled. Nicky baulked, feeling like he'd been slapped.

“No I didn't.”

“You did. While you were passed out. I cleaned you the fuck off and got you back into bed. You came to for about five seconds, called me mam, and threw up down yourself. I cleaned that off too. I cleaned you off when you pissed yourself, when you were screaming, when you were coming all over yourself. I fucking sat there for hours while you rocked in the corner, feeding you and making sure that you weren't dead. I did all that, and now you're just going to let yourself go back to that?”

“Nobody _asked_ you to!”

“No. They didn't.” Mark crossed his arms. “I care about you. At first it was just guilt, but I _care_ about you. Your sister cares about you. Your whole family. They give a shit whether you live or die. I give a shit. So why don't you want it?”

“They _kicked me out_.” Nicky shrieked back. “I did shit for money, for drugs, for fucking... fucking _safety_ that you will _never_ understand. That I could never...” He sobbed, felt it rise in his chest. “I can't take any of it back, and now she says it was a _mistake?_ So what was the...” He fell. Mark was beside him in a second.

“I'm sorry.” He was cupped into a warm embrace, knelt on the floor and heaving tears into his hands. He was still holding the wooden sleigh. He dropped it. “I'm so sorry you felt you had to...”

“I _did_ have to.” He sank lower, collapsed into Mark's knee, curled up on the floor “I did. Because...

“Shh.” Mark whispered. Nicky sobbed.

He lay there for a long time, until he heard footsteps go back past Mark's door.

 

*

 

The first memory Nicky had was of being three years old, though at that age it could hardly be called a memory as such. Random fragments, nothing concrete, though he remembered the feeling. His mother teaching him to tie his shoe. They'd been practicing for weeks. The bunny hops around the hole, under the tree... He'd gotten it for the first time that morning, putting on his tiny running shoes so his dad could take him to a football game.

He was already mad for it at that age. They put a tiny jersey on him. Little running shorts. He could smell popcorn. His dad let him have a bite of a hotdog, Nicky sat on his shoulders. Just the two of them, Mam and Gillian having a girls' day and he and his dad watching the players run up and down the pitch, his dad shouting and Nicky bellowing at the top of his lungs, barely a squeak in a crowd that seemed to be so much bigger than him.

He fell asleep in the car on the way home, woke to hands scooping him up. Half asleep and in strong arms, his thumb lodged deep in his mouth, the smell of cut grass from the neighbour's lawn thick in his nose.

They slid him into bed. Two sets of lips kissed him gently on the forehead.

His mam asked if it had been a good day.

His dad said _“He was amazing”_.

The ceiling had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck all over it. He barely noticed them, drifting off to sleep to his football nightlight, spilling warm light across the floor.

 

*

 

Nicky slipped out of the flat just after midnight. He'd gone into the bathroom for a while, cried himself out in shower and when he came out he'd smiled grimly and helped Mark finish decorating the tree, ignoring the sidelong glances he was getting, the concerned grimaces. They'd done it in silence, sat down on the sofa to watch TV when it was done.

Then they'd gone to bed.

Mark hadn't tried to... do anything. Had just held him, spooned around him and Nicky trying to pretend he didn't want to throw the touch off. Pretending he wasn't suffocated while hands clasped at his waist and kisses pressed occasionally to the back of his neck like they were trying to comfort.

He locked the door from the inside, then closed it. Swallowed when he heard it click.

Okay.

It was cold outside. He'd returned Mark's clothes, put on his old jeans and jacket, his scant few possessions in the ratty backpack. Cigarettes, lighter, blanket, wallet. It all seemed so small, suddenly, like there should be more of it.

It took him over an hour to get to the park, his fingers numb in the icy air when he found a spot around the fountain. Nobody looked at him. Nobody was bothered. He went for a walk down to the toilet block, found a couple of people lurking around there too. There wasn't much business. It was too fucking cold. He went down the road until he found parked cars. One flashed its lights.

It was over quickly. He climbed into the backseat, wincing at the push in. It hurt more than he remembered, with an aching, tearing spread he couldn't remember feeling since those first years when he'd still been that kid, the one who'd do a favour. He gritted his teeth, worked through it, and when he was done he staggered out, seventy-five euro in his pocket and a limp in his step. The guy drove off. Nicky already couldn't remember his face.

He went back to the toilets to clean up, started when he saw himself in the scratched mirror. His cheeks were fuller but there was a look in his eyes he hadn't noticed. Something soft and haunted, like the bruise on a shiny apple that had been dropped. He felt dirty, which was ridiculous when he'd only had a shower that day. He'd gone weeks without a shower before and never felt...

The next job was in a Honda Civic by the lake with Mickey Mouse plushies suction cupped to the window and a child seat in the back. Blowjob, done in five minutes. Thirty euro. Over a hundred already.

He found a spot to sleep up in an old tree with low branches, squashed in a crook. He watched a line of ants stripe back and forth along the limb nearby, some carrying fragments of leaf, bits of flower, one by one, an endless line. He woke an hour later, cold and hungry, tears streaming down his face. A sick, black emptiness deep in his stomach, the old, shrieking hole he'd manage to fill, once upon a time.

He was about to head for the McDonalds before he remembered that wasn't an option any more.

So he started to walk.

 

*

 

“So that's...” The lad was weighing it up, the little scales wobbling slightly on the messy coffee table. Nicky licked his lips. God, after all that pain, all that horror he'd forgotten the urge. The sudden leap in his stomach when he saw the little pile, tipping the scales inexorably downwards. “One-twenty.”

"I have one-five.”

That got a sigh. He watched some get scooped off the scales, back into the bag. “Right. One...” He peered at the readout. “One-five.” Nicky reached into his pocket. “This is good stuff too, mate. Just got it in. Pure like you wouldn't believe.” Nicky knew it was probably untrue, part of the blag, but he couldn't find himself caring. He pulled the dirty wallet out of his back pocket.

A piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

He picked it up.

Mark's number.

“ _Call me if you need to be picked up.”_

“Mate?”

He looked up.

“That'll be one-five.”

“I...” He looked back down at the number. Swallowed. A badly painted sled with an M painted on. A cold drink pressed to his mouth while he curled up, feverish and trying to claw his way out of hell. Mark sinking down, breathing hard into Nicky's mouth, soft and accepting and wanting.

“Mate?”

“I have to go.” He stuffed it back in his pocket, ignoring the look of frustration he was given. “I'm sorry, I have to...”

“Seriously?”

“I...” He shook his head. “Sorry.”

 

*

 

He made it back to Mark's flat at dawn, a thousand words prepared. Apologies, promises, explanations. His legs were shaking with cold and exhaustion, skin feeling grimy with sweat. He ached.

The door opened before he could knock.

“I know, I'm...” The phone went slack by Mark's ear, his eyes widening. “ _Nicky?_ ”

“Hi.” He bit his lip. “I...”

“Jesus, wait...” He turned back to the phone. “I'm coming Kian. On my way.” He was nodding, glaring sidelong at Nicky. “I know. Five minutes. As soon as I can.” He hung up. Stared at Nicky. “Where the fuck have you been?!”

“I...” Nicky swallowed hard in the face of that accusing glare. “I'm sorry, I...”

“Save it.” Mark growled. “We're going to the hospital.” He grabbed Nicky's wrist and started marching for the stairs.

“What's...?”

Mark glanced over his shoulder, tears in his eyes.

“Shane's tried to kill himself.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

They skidded around the corner, shoes squeaking on the sickly-green linoleum, Mark first and Nicky half a beat behind. The trip had been short, Mark not speaking, though Nicky had put a hand on his shoulder when he'd started crying at the lights and not noticed them turning green. Mark had sucked in a breath, swallowed hard, and put his hand over Nicky's, foot stepping down on the gas.

“Kian.”

They were hugging before Mark even stopped moving, Kian launching himself into Mark's arms, feet off the floor for half a second. The other man was crying, his fingernails in his mouth the moment Mark put him back down. Nicky stood for a long moment, not sure what the hell he was supposed to be doing, then sank into a seat. Kian sat back down too.

“He's in intensive care. I don't...” Mark knelt at his feet. “He's... god, he was just... he was on the floor. Out of his chair and he wasn't... wasn't...” There was a sob, Kian leaning forward to pull Mark into another hug. “He...”

“Fuck.” Mark breathed. Kian didn't let go, just heaved into his arms while Mark held him, stroking his back.

“I... I've been trying. So hard. He kept... saying things. The last couple of weeks since I... since we...” Kian gulped, let out a shaking breath. “That he wasn't good... enough. Not now. He's been in pain. I thought the drugs were running out too fast but I thought maybe I was just not remembering right. I didn't think... He...”

“Do you know anything?”

Kian shook his head, shoving away tears with the heel of his palm. “They pumped his stomach, took him... took him upstairs. They said they'd come...” He closed his eyes, trembling. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Okay.” Mark's hands caught up Kian's. “Nicky's going to get you a cup of water.” Nicky blinked, surprised by the sudden offer of responsibility. “Then he's going to get a doctor and see what he can find out, yeah?” He was about to protest when Mark glared. “Yeah?”

Kian looked up, stared at Nicky like he'd only just noticed he was there, eyes glassy but shining with dull interest.

“Yeah.” Nicky agreed. He was still wearing his backpack, he realised. Cigarettes, lighter, blanket, wallet. He did as he was told, dashing off and then thrusting the plastic cup he brought back in Mark's direction. Mark took it, bending down to help Kian sip it, stroking blonde hair gently while his friend hiccuped tears.

Nicky went to find a doctor.

 

*

 

They finally went in half an hour later, were led down the hall to a white room, Nicky able to see Shane through the blinds when they rounded the corner. He was pale, frighteningly still. The doctor said he was still asleep, was being monitored in case something happened but that he was basically out of the woods.

Mark and Nicky stood in the hall while Kian stepped through the door. Stopped. He reached a hand back, catching Mark's up.

“Um.”

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

“Yes please.” Kian sounded small. Mark nodded, following him through. Nicky did the same, trudging in uncomfortably. He sank down heavily into a chair. Kian stood next to the bed, Mark putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm so sorry, Kian.”

“It's fine. He's fine.” Kian let out a slow, shuddering breath. “Fuck. Ehm...” His hand reached out for Shane's. It was unresponsive, but Kian squeezed it, lifting it to his mouth to kiss. He started to cry again.

“Want us to leave you for a bit?”

Kian did.

They stepped outside, Mark sinking to a crouch beneath the window as soon as they were out. Nicky sat beside him. They probably weren't supposed to be sitting in the hallway like this, something to do with health and safety or something, but Mark didn't look like he could get back up. Nicky put a hand on his shoulder.

“Where did you go?”

“I...” Nicky swallowed. “Out.”

“Out.” Mark said flatly. “Why are you wearing...” He shot a meaningful look at Nicky's backpack, looked up again. “I don't want to know. Don't tell me.”

“Mark...”

“I just... don't want to know.” Mark spat. “I can't...” He swallowed hard, a tear trickling down his face.

“I didn't...” Nicky looked away. “I'm sorry. I got... it was too much. My sister and...” He sucked in a breath, feeling thin all of a sudden, light headed. “I just needed...”

“Are you high?” The studying gaze burned through his skin. Nicky shook his head.

“No. I meant to, but...” Mark's eyes narrowed. “I stopped. I did... a couple of jobs and then when I went to buy I just...” He looked down at his hands. “I'm really sorry.”

“I woke up and you were gone. I didn't know... Then Kian called and...” Mark shook his head. “It's all my fault. Everything. Kian and Shane and now... now you and I can't...”

“Oh, would you knock it the fuck off?” They both looked up. Kian was stood in the doorway, an eyebrow raised, though his eyes were still wet and red. “Seriously, if you're going to have a pity party close the door properly. It's not fucking soundproof.” Mark opened his mouth to protest. Kian glared. “Shane tried to kill himself and you two are bitching about your whiny problems?”

“It's my fault. I...”

“What is?” Kian crossed his arms. “You didn't shove the pills down his throat.”

“I told you about how I... and the car and...”

“Oh, fuck off.” Kian barked a laugh. “Want to hear a fun fucking story, Mark? Shane's known you've been in love with me for _years_. We both knew. It wasn't a fucking revelation.” Nicky heard a sharp breath draw in. “You're our mate and he was okay with it. It wasn't like I was going anywhere. I love Shane. You got drunk and acted like a twat. It was a bit embarrassing. Get over it.”

“But...”

“You couldn't hurt a fly! Do you really think I'd believe you'd do it on purpose? What, like some sort of spurned lover or Fatal Attraction thing? Shane shoved you. You shoved him back. We've been actually trying to deal with it, because it's what happened and we can't take it back. He doesn't blame you. He blames _himself_. Stop making it all about _you_.”

The door slammed. Mark's mouth was still opening and closing like a fish.

Nicky patted his arm.

“Do you want a cup of water?” He asked quietly.

Mark nodded, sinking down onto the linoleum.

 

*

 

They stayed at the hospital most of the morning, Kian sat fixedly by the bed and only getting up to go to the toilet. They didn't really speak much. Nicky went to get coffee. Mark sat in grim silence, his mouth so thin it was almost a line. Shane stayed silent, chest rising and falling slowly, the machines around him beeping quietly.

Nicky nodded off in his chair. Staying up for 24 hours had never been all that difficult before but now he realised he hadn't slept all night, that he was hungry and tired. He went to sleep with Mark's arm stiffly around his shoulders and when he woke up he went for another coffee run, got a few packets of crisps from the vending machine. He still had ninety-eight euro left.

When he came back Mark was standing outside the room, the door closed.

“Shane's woken up.”

Nicky glanced through the blinds, his heart giving an unexpected leap. Kian was bent over the bed, Shane's hand reached around him to pull him into a hug, an IV trailing out of the back of it.

“Is he okay?”

“I think so.” Mark pursed his lips. “I'm headed back home, give them some time alone. Are you coming or not?”

“Am I invited?”

“What did I just say?” The look on Mark's face didn't allow for argument. Nicky swallowed.

“Yes please.”

“Okay.” Mark was already heading down the hallway, hand fishing in his pocket for the car keys.

Nicky hurried after him.

 

*

 

They slept into the afternoon, crashed on the bed back to back, each facing a wall. When he woke he felt decidedly better and considerably worse at the same time, drowsy and disoriented but at least rested. He had a shower while Mark kept sleeping, came back in to Mark sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“Feel better?”

“Not really.” Mark yawned, blinking blearily at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He still had a towel wrapped around his waist. It felt wrong to be naked with their relationship on such awkward terms at the moment and he was surprised that he even cared. He'd never minded before. Mark climbed out of bed. “I'm really sorry about last night.”

“I know.” He blinked as Mark strode past him, followed hesitantly as the younger man walked into the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. “I don't...” Both hands rested on the edge of the sink. Nicky bit his lip. “I'm sorry, Nicky. I just can't deal with your... shit right now.” Blue eyes turned on him, boiling into the anxious, hurt mess in his stomach. “I have to get back to the hospital."

“Okay.” Nicky watched him pick up the toothpaste and start to brush his teeth. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Do whatever you like.” Mark spat foam, ran the tap. “Stay here. Come with me. It's your decision. It's always been your decision. I'm not here to fucking... fix anyone.”

“Mark...” He blocked Mark's way when he tried to leave the bathroom. Mark stared at him. He put both hands on broad shoulders. “Stop. Talk to me.”

“I am.”

“No...” He ran his fingers up Mark's neck. “Hey...” He leaned in closer, brushed his lips to Mark's unresisting ones. “You haven't eaten. Let me make you something to eat. You're no good to Kian if you pass out.” He kissed Mark again, felt him sag. “Sit yourself down.” He urged. Arms wrapped around his waist.

“Yeah.” Mark laid his head on Nicky's shoulder. “Yeah, okay.”

Nicky kissed dark hair, tugging him through to the living room.

 

*

 

It was okay, taking care of Mark. He got him sat down, sorted some toasted cheese sandwiches. Mark nibbled them disinterestedly but Nicky just sat with him until he finished most of it, patting his back gently and trying to make idle conversation, talking through Mark's silence. He ate the leftovers, washed the plate, then got Mark in the shower, stood naked in the stall with him and washed his hair, towelling him off when they done and going to make coffee while Mark got dressed.

He sat down on the bed when he was dressed himself, in a pair of clean trousers and one of Mark's shirts. Mark was sitting on the edge, staring at the floor.

“Sorry for what I said.” Mark murmured. Nicky nodded.

“It's fine.” He ran his hand down Mark's back. “I barely have time for my shit, so you shouldn't be expected to.”

“I do. Have time. I just...”

“I know.” Nicky smiled, Mark looked up, eyelashes webbed with tears. “You've been taking care of me for a couple of weeks, right? My turn to take care of you.” Mark's mouth opened in protest. “Stop.” He brushed knuckles down a pale cheek. “Sometimes we just need a bit of help, right?”

Mark shrugged. “It's not your job.”

“No shit.” Nicky chuckled. “But what the fuck else am I going to do?” He nudged Mark, got a half-smile in return. “Step back a bit. You did your part. If I fuck up, I fuck up. You did a nice thing for me. Most people wouldn't have.” He cupped Mark's cheek. “Know why I came back?”

“No?”

“Because I found...” He dug in his pocket, pulled out Mark's phone number and dropped it into a shaking hand. “I was strung out, been completely written off by everyone, wasn't even thinking about going straight, and you said _call me if you need to be picked up_. Just like that. You...” He watched Mark's hand close around the slip of paper, a tear slide down his cheek. “You took a bet on me. It's probably time I start taking a bet on myself. We both need to stop making excuses.” He bit his lip. “Go home for Christmas. See your family. As fucking scary as you think it'll be, you'll regret not doing it.”

Mark nodded slowly, opened his hand again. He tipped the number back into Nicky's hand.

“Keep it.” He said quietly. Nicky nodded. “You can always stay here.”

“Okay.” He cupped Mark's cheek, kissed him gently. It was returned, their arms wrapping slowly around each other until they were breathing the same air, foreheads pressed together. “Let's go. You can drop me off on the way.” Mark's breath caught.

“You're not coming?”

“You're going home for Christmas.” He shrugged. “Go see your friends, then get on the road. It's Christmas Eve in four days.” Mark kissed him again. Sucking at his mouth like he was trying to keep him there. Nicky kissed him back. Fingers slid into his hair.

“Don't go.”

“I'm not.” Nicky winked. “New Years Eve, okay? You've gotta have a snog at midnight.” Mark smirked through trembling lips. “I've got your number.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” He put his hand to a strong chest, felt a heart beat hard and rapid. “Come on. Kian's waiting.”

 

*

 

The red door filled his whole vision. It looked small, smaller than he remembered from when he was nine years old, holding the bucket of paint as high as he could while his dad stood on a stepladder to reach the lintel.

He glanced over his shoulder. Mark was in the front seat still. Had promised to stay, just in case it went horribly wrong. Blue eyes caught his. Smiled. He smiled back.

Okay.

He lifted his hand to knock.

 

*

 

The first time Nicky was kissed on New Years Eve he was twenty-five and had just left his parents' house. The party had been raging, food and drink everywhere while he'd stood with a glass of coke in his hand. No alcohol, not any more. It was too much like something to numb the pain, and he didn't like the slippery slope it suggested.

It had only been a week, of course, since he'd turned down the sherry at Christmas dinner, but it was something. A promise he hoped he could keep. His mam had hugged him and tipped an extra mince pie onto his plate. His dad had asked if he could have a coke too, that if it was well enough for Nicky he probably didn't need a beer. Who needed to drink when they had the whole family to keep them company?

He dragged on his cigarette. It was cold again, but the warm winter coat he'd been given by his sister and her husband on Christmas morning was blocking out the cold well enough, a scarf wrapped tight around his neck. A group of drunken revellers started singing behind him. 11:58. He bounced on the balls of his feet, looking around expectantly.

“You know...” He turned at the sound of a familiar voice, heart leaping. “It's a shame if you're by yourself on New Years Eve.”

“I don't know.” Nicky smiled. “Gotten used to it. Wouldn't mind trying something new, though.”

“Something new.” Mark mused. He crossed the distance between them. Stood on the Ha'penny bridge, the perfect place to watch the fireworks. It was packed. Mark's hand slid into his and suddenly there was no-one else there. “One more minute.”

“One more.” He agreed. Fingers stroked up his cheek, sending ribbons of sensation where he turned into it. He tossed the cigarette in the river. Mark chuckled. “Come back to ours tonight.” He urged. “My mam wants to meet you. I think she wants to know who the lad is I keep racking up the phone-bill for.”

“My mam kept asking who keeps bloody phoning.” Nicky groaned, nuzzling the hand on his cheek in embarrassment. “She actually called you a 'gentleman caller'.”

“I'm classy like that.” Nicky agreed. Mark snorted. “I am!”

“You're perfect.” A kiss nudged his nose. Just a small one. Not a midnight kiss, though. Not yet.

“TEN!” Was shouted. Nicky grinned, wrapping his arms around Mark's neck. Last year he'd listened to the count on the grass near the lake, staring up at the stars and thinking they were singing to him.

This was better.

“NINE!” Mark's arms slid around his waist. “EIGHT!”

The year before he'd been passed out on Bryan's sofa, a threadbare blanket draped over him.

“SEVEN!” Nicky tilted his chin, felt a forehead press to his. “SIX!”

Bent over in a dirty motel room, distracting himself with patterns in the godawful bedspread.

“FIVE! FOUR! THREE!”

By the time the count made it to to two he was breathing Mark's air.

“One.” Mark whispered.

Nicky laughed, capturing his mouth in a hard kiss.

 


End file.
